raMNHItittMl&MMMHI 


* 


EMERSO 
CIFFORD 
TAYLOR 


THE  UPPER  HAND 


W.  W 


The  Upper  Hand 


By    EMERSON    GIFFORD    TAYLOR 
Author  of  "A  Daughter  of  Dale,"  etc. 


NEW  YORK 

A.   S.    BARNES   &   COMPANY 
1906 


COPYRIGHT,  1906,  BY 

A.   S.   BARNES  &  COMPANY 

Published  liar,  1906 


TO  THREE  DEAR  CRITICS 


2138561 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  AN  INTBUSION 1 

II.  JEAN 9 

III.  THE    REBEL 22 

IV.  A  MAID  ERBANT 42 

V.  A  CONVERSION 60 

VI.  MB.  WARDEN'S  HOMECOMING 74 

VIL  CONVERSATIONS 90 

VIII.  A  CHANGE  OF  MIND 109 

IX.  A  SKIRMISH 122 

X.  A  FLANK  ATTACK 133 

XI.  JEAN  GOES  ON  AN  ERRAND 149 

XII.  THE  LEDGES 160 

XIII.  THE  PABLOB 174 

XIV.  CONTAINS  LIGHT  AND  DABKNESS 185 

XV.  PRINCIPAL  AND  INTEREST 202 

XVI.  THE  TEST 221 

XVII.  THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END   «^r-   ....  238 

XVIII.  A  CRISIS 249 

XIX.  A  WAY  Our 261 

XX.  IN  THE  OPEN       ..........  276 

XXI.  JOURNEY'S  END 287 

XXII.  ULYSSES 302 

XXIII.  OUTWARD  BOUND  313 


THE  UPPER  HAND 


AN    INTRUSION 

WHEN  the  sleepy  servant  opened  the  door  of 
Squire  Warden's  parlor  that  morning  she 
received  a  shock.  Outdoors  clear  cool 
daylight  was  flooding  the  world  after  a  night  of  wind 
and  rain;  yet  here  was  the  hanging  lamp  still  burn- 
ing, though  it  sputtered  dingily,  and  the  heavy  cur- 
tains were  drawn  tight  —  matters  in  themselves 
strange  enough,  in  all  conscience.  But  what  made 
Mandy  actually  cry  out  in  real  alarm  as  she  looked 
in  was  the  sight  of  the  Squire  himself.  There  was 
not  a  man  in  the  whole  of  New  England  more  regular 
in  his  habits,  more  careful  of  appearances,  more 
scrupulous  in  observing  what  he  called,  "  his  duty  as 
a  respectable  member  of  society."  He  had  been 
proud  of  his  ancestors  and  of  his  old  home  long  before 
the  Sons  and  the  Daughters  arose  to  remind  us  how 
necessary  such  a  feeling  is  to  every  pious  descend- 
ant ;  and  he  tried  his  best  to  live  up  to  their  traditions 
by  making  himself  as  rich  as  possible  with  the  least 
possible  discredit,  and  often  indeed  at  the  expense  of 

1 


2  THE  UPPER  HAND 

less  worthy  men  than  himself.  KingSxord  was  in- 
terested in  two  such  cases  especially,  and  on  both  oc- 
casions was  glad  that  Mr.  Warden  was  the  winner. 
One  was  when  he  announced  that  he  had  drawn  Ziba 
Wilder's  will  himself,  when  nobody  supposed  that 
the  old  fellow  had  thought  of  such  an  instrument,  and 
by  its  terms  he  inherited  all  the  money  instead  of 
Ziba's  son,  the  worthless  cheat-the-gallows  James. 
The  latter  only  smiled  when  the  disappointing  news 
was  told  him;  said  that  maybe  Warden  would  give 
him  a  little  out  of  charity,  and  drifted  away  down 
the  world.  The  other  case  was  when  the  Squire  fore- 
closed on  shiftless  French,  the  miller,  who  was  ruin- 
ing the  property  anyhow.  His  ways  were  change- 
less. The  rules  and  order  of  his  house  were  rooted 
as  deeply  as  the  great  Warden  elms,  were  as  serene 
as  the  old  Warden  garden.  So  when  Mandy  took  in 
even  the  most  obvious  of  the  unusual  sights  the  par- 
lor showed  her,  she  arrived  at  the  obvious  deduction 
instantly. 

"  Goodness  me ! "  she  exclaimed,  her  voice  running 
up  in  a  squeak.  "  Is  yo'  dead,  Marse  Warden?  " 

She  might  well  ask  it,  for  the  Squire  was  lying 
back  in  an  arm-chair  with  his  eyes  closed;  his  thin 
face  chalk  white  in  the  low  light  of  the  dying  lamp. 
His  collar  and  clothes  were  rumpled  and  his  white 
hair  disordered. 

"  I»  yo'  dead ! "  Mandy  cried  again,  with  rather 
more  interest  than  anxiety. 

At  that  he  opened  his  eyes  and  stared  at  her.     For 


AN  INTRUSION  3 

a  second  he  looked  wild  and  frightened,  as  though  he 
had  just  waked  from  some  disquieting  nightmare: 
then  his  expression  changed.  He  sat  up  straight, 
and  whipped  his  right  hand  behind  his  back. 

"  Anything  the  matter,  suh  ?  " 

"  You  get  down  to  work  later'n  I  like,  that's  all. 
Up  —  up  here  in  the  North  we  begin  the  day  early," 
Mr.  Warden  replied  with  an  effort.  "  I've  been  down- 
stairs quite  a  while  already,"  he  added  in  a  tone  of 
mingled  bitterness  and  whimsical  humor. 

"  It's  only  half  past  six,"  poor  Mandy  began. 

"  We  won't  talk  about  it."  The  Squire's  tone  cut 
like  acid  this  time;  and  Mandy  felt  inclined  to  weep. 
"  I'll  fix  this  place  up  myself  this  morning."  He 
raised  his  head,  noticed  certain  details  in  the  state  of 
the  room,  and  then  hastily  extinguished  the  lamp. 
"  Don't  wait,"  he  said,  less  sharply,  though  his  voice 
in  the  semi-darkness  still  sounded  queer.  "  You  can 
find  plenty  to  'tend  to  somewhere  else." 

"  All  right,  suh."  She  was  considering  how  to  get 
away  without  any  more  scolding,  when  her  master 
spoke  again.  And  this  time  honest  Mandy  got  a 
start  she  thought  she  never  would  get  over. 

"  I  want  you  to  set  another  place  at  the  breakfast 
table,"  he  said  slowly,  and  with  an  evident  effort. 
"  That'll  do.  And,  Mandy,  I  — " 

"What,  suh?" 

"  What's  that  noise  out  in  the  hall?  Is  anybody 
?*1  he  demanded  sharply.  "Is  there?" 


4  THE  UPPER  HAND 

The  gin  wheeled  about,  and  looked  blankly  out  of 
the  room.  "  No,  Marse  Warden." 

"  Humph !  Very  strange.  I  thought  I  heard  — 
well,  let  me  see."  The  old  man  listened  again.  "  No, 
of  course  nobody  could  be  there.  Now  what  was  I 
saying,  Mandy  ?  " 

"  Yo'  was  mentionin'  a  place  at  breakfast,  suh," 
she  suggested. 

"  A  visitor  arrived  in  the  evening,"  .the  good  gen- 
tlemen went  on  quietly,  though  he  watched  to  see  the 
effect  of  his  announcement.  "  Rather  unexpectedly." 

"  That  was  the  racket  I  done  heard,"  cried  Mandy, 
thinking  she  had  been  half  waked  once  or  twice  by 
something  like  a  cry.  "  Somebody  was  a-hollerin'." 

"  There  was  no  noise,"  the  Squire  answered  swiftly. 
"  Not  a  sound.  Nothing  you  could  have  heard  — 
possibly.  Now  go." 

Left  alone  —  and  he  waited  till  he  heard  the  girl 
at  work  in  the  dining-room,  he  withdrew  his  hidden 
hand,  and  readjusted,  wincing  with  pain,  the  rough 
bandage  that  was  tied  around  the  wrist.  The  strip 
of  cotton  and  its  stain  of  liniment  seemed,  like  Mr. 
Warden's  disordered  dress  and  the  pain  in  his  face, 
out  of  place  in  this  parlor  of  his ;  but  there  were  other 
bits  of  evidence  which  seemed  to  point  to  some  recent 
and  rude  violation  of  the  room's  usual  air.  A  chair 
was  upset ;  over  by  the  wall,  in  a  hastily  cleared  space, 
stood  a  little  travelling  trunk  all  stained  with  the 
night's  rain,  and  there  hung  all  about  the  place  a  pro- 
faning reek  of  dead  tobacco  and  the  lees  of  a  cloudy 


AN  INTRUSION  5 

glass  of  rum.  Mr.  Warden  closed  the  door  into  the 
hall.  As  best  he  could,  with  his  pain  and  his  fatigue, 
he  set  about  putting  things  to  rights.  The  windows 
were  flung  up,  squeaking  and  rattling.  There  drifted 
in  a  breath  of  lilac  and  syringa,  fragrant  after  their 
drenching.  Next,  the  furniture  was  set  straight ;  the 
ashes  and  ends  of  cigars  were  cleared  up,  which  some 
careless  smoker  had  sprinkled  or  dropped  on  the  table 
where  the  big  Bible  lay.  Even  the  fire  in  the  stove 
was  rekindled,  and  the  square  of  zinc  underneath  it 
was  brushed  up  clean.  So  much  the  Squire  could  do ; 
but  then  he  hesitated.  A  shudder  of  sickness  swept 
through  him.  He  shut  his  eyes,  as  though  not  to  see 
the  task  that  remained.  Three  times  his  hand  failed, 
although  Mr.  Warden,  as  all  Kingsford  knew,  had 
nerves  of  steel  and  a  heart  of  ice.  Three  times  he 
turned  from  his  task  sick  and  faint.  Yet  what  he 
had  to  do  was  simple  enough.  It  was  merely  to  pick 
up  and  put  in  its  place,  the  thin  iron  poker.  It  had 
unaccountably  fallen  across  the  room  from  the  stove, 
and,  falling,  had  burned  a  deep  scorch  in  the  heavy 
carpet.  A  stained  bandanna  handkerchief  was 
twisted  around  the  handle. 

When  at  length  his  work  was  done,  "  It'll  be  his 
turn  next  time ! "  cried  Mr.  Warden  half  aloud. 
"  This  is  the  end.  Forever,"  he  promised,  looking 
round  the  room.  "  The  rest  is  mine,  mine,  mine." 

The  cool  air  from  outdoors  solaced  him.  From  the 
window-seat,  for  he  lacked  the  strength  just  then  to 
go  upstairs  and  change  his  dress,  he  watched  the  early; 


6  THE  UPPER  HAND 

morning  activities  of  the  village  streets,  and  the  burn- 
ing ache  in  his  wrist,  like  the  dull  fire  in  his  heart,  sub- 
sided a  little  as  he  surveyed  the  young  morning's  quiet 
life,  with  his  head  pressed  against  the  glass  like  a 
child's.  Then  his  tired  eyes  closed  and  his  head 
drooped;  but  even  in  his  drowse  Mr.  Warden's  face 
did  not  lose  its  look  of  fear  and  chagrin.  Consider- 
ing that  he  was  Kingsford's  most  eminent  citizen,  as 
well  as  the  richest,  he  did  not  cut  much  of  a  figure 
in  that  early  morning  light. 

The  rattle  of  the  door-knob  awoke  him  with  a  start 
after  about  an  hour  of  broken,  fitful  rest. 

"  Who's  there? "  he  cried,  rising  up.  "  Is  that 
you,  Mandy  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  a  very  soft,  little  voice  answered.  "  It's 
—me." 

"  What  d'you  want?  "  asked  the  Squire  resentfully. 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment ;  then  there  came  a 
light  and  listless  knock  on  the  door.  "  May  I  come 
in,  please?  "  the  voice  asked. 

Mr.  Warden  glanced  swiftly  round  the  room,  closed 
and  locked  his  desk,  and  stuffed  deep  into  the  stove 
a  corner  of  the  bandanna  handkerchief  which  he  had 
untwisted  from  the  poker,  but  had  not  destroyed. 
Then  with  a  sigh,  he  unlocked  the  door  and  pulled  it 
open. 

A  little  girl  was  standing  there  in  the  hall  —  a  child 
about  twelve  years  old,  whose  color  seemed  a  part  of 
the  morning's,  so  bright  was  the  hair,  so  delicate  the 
rose  of  her  cheeks,  so  like  the  windy  sky  the  grey  of 


AN  INTRUSION  7 

her  eyes.  She  carried  herself  daintily  erect ;  and  there 
was  a  promise  about  her  of  beauty,  faint  but  clear 
like  the  dawn's.  All  this  even  Mr.  Warden  could  see ; 
and  he  realized  it  even  before  the  fact  that  the  little 
girl  was  dressed  in  deep  mourning 

"  It's  —  you,  then ! "  he  exclaimed  huskily.  "  Did 
you  want  anything?  " 

The  child  was  checked  by  the  old  man's  abrupt  ques- 
tion ;  and  her  eyes  lost  their  hopeful  smile.  "  No, 
sir,"  she  said  slowly.  "I  —  I  only  thought  maybe 
you'd  like  to  have  me  come.  I  just  wanted  to  say 
good-morning." 

"  Oh ! "  growled  the  Squire,  extending  his  left 
hand.  "How  d'ye  do?" 

"  Very  well,  thank  you,"  she  answered  sedately. 
"  I  hope  you  are  well." 

"  I  didn't  sleep  very  well,  since  you  ask.  My 
rest,"  he  said  bitterly,  "  was  kind  o'  broken  last 
night." 

"  Is  Captain  Barker  here  still?  "  she  asked.  "  The 
funny  gentleman  that  brought  me?  "  "  He  was  aw- 
fully nice,  I  thought." 

"  Nice ! "  Mr.  Warden's  laugh  was  not  pleasant. 
The  child  looked  at  him  doubtfully.  "  Oh,  he's  a 
very  nice  man.  I  have  to  thank  him,  too.  For 
bringing  you  to  cheer  my  old  age.  It  was  very 
thoughtful  in  Captain  Barker." 

"  Father  wanted  me  to  come.  He  said  so  before  he 
died.  He  said  you  were  his  dearest  friend.  And  so 
the  Captain  — " 


8  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  Obeyed  orders,  eh?  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Warden,"  she  answered  very  faintly, 
edging  away.  "  And  —  and  I  guess  I'll  go  and  find 
him,  if  he's  only  outdoors.  Don't  you  think,"  she 
added,  with  a  smile  that  was  very  lovely,  "  that  he'd 
be  glad  to  see  me?  " 

"  Surely.  But  I  want  you  to  stay  here,"  he  snap- 
ped. "  Come  back." 

"  Will  he  be  here  soon  ?  "  the  child  persisted. 

Mr.  Warden  wet  his  lips.  "  Oh,  yes,"  he  rasped 
out,  his  cold  eyes  taking  fire.  "  He'll  come  again 
soon  enough." 


IB 


JEAN 

SO  it  happened  that  as  a  result  of  an  evening's 
talk  with  a  stranger  whom  nobody  remem- 
bered to  have  seen  come  or  go,  Andrew 
Warden  went  out  into  the  placid  life  of  Kingsford 
with  a  red  scar  on  his  wrist  and  a  secret  that  smoul- 
dered in  his  breast.  Just  what  happened  on  that 
stormy  night  behind  the  closely  drawn  curtains  nobody 
ever  rightly  knew ;  and  after  a  little  —  a  year  or  two 
—  even  the  gossipy  village  stopped  wondering  about 
Captain  Barker  and  about  the  strange  way  in  which 
Jim  Wilder's  little  girl  was  brought  into  the  Warden 
household.  People  thought  that  the  Squire  had  acted 
very  handsomely  for  once ;  that  he  would  never  regret 
that  piece  of  pleasant  charity.  Besides  this,  the  old 
man  was  told  that  he  might  feel  mighty  proud  at 
having  a  youngster  like  Jean  growing  up  in  his 
charge.  And  the  serene  quiet  old  town  rejoiced  in 
Jean  on  its  own  account,  as  it  watched  her  lithe 
young  beauty  flicker  up  and  down  the  shady  street  like 
a  point  of  light, —  glad,  too,  that  in  her  promise  there 
was  removed  the  shadow  which  had  lain  on  her  family 
name  ever  since  her  renegade  father  had  drifted  away 

9 


10  THE  UPPER  HAND 

years  before  with  the  suspicion  of  a  great  crime  hover- 
ing over  him. 

"  She  is  very  dear,"  one  of  the  ladies  would  say, 
touching  her  hair  as  she  might  touch  a  piece  of  old 
lace,  "  and  quite  one  of  us  now." 

"  Entirely,"  Mr.  Warden  assented.  "  And  I  guess 
she's  happy  too.  Eh,  Jean  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir."  She  colored  deeply  under  her  warm 
tan,  for  it  had  needed  some  of  Uncle  Warden's  tart- 
ness to  bring  her  grey  eyes  back  from  straying  be- 
yond the  prim  parlor  to  the  dusty  sunny  street.  She 
looked  up  with  a  little  quivering  smile.  "  Uncle," 
she  stammered,  "  May  I  please  go  over  to  the  Ledges 
this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  Lord  bless  me ! "  ejaculated  the  Squire,  while 
his  visitor  sighed  and  smiled  together.  "  Certainly 
not.  Go  and  play  in  the  garden." 

She  faded  like  a  wild-flower.     "  The  garden  ?  " 

"  Exactly.  Most  young  ladies  'd  find  it  large 
enough." 

"  I  think,"  said  Jean  slowly,  "  that  I'd  rather 
have  been  my  mother  than  one  of  your  ladies.  She 
lived,"  the  child  explained  to  Mrs.  Gregory,  while  her 
grey  eyes  grew  big,  "  on  an  island  in  the  Spanish 
Main." 

"  Martinique,  "  Mr.  Warden  contrived  to  say,  as 
Jean  flashed  from  the  room. 

"  But  she  is  a  dreadful  pretty  child,"  the  gentle 
visitor  cooed,  anxious  to  relieve  her  old  friend's  mor- 


JEAN  11 

tification,  "  and  you  do  so  much  for  her,  I  should 
think  she'd  be  as  grateful's  she  could  be." 

"  Of  course.  I  want  to  do  right  by  her.  I  con- 
sider her  a  —  a  sacred  trust,"  said  the  Squire  slowly. 

But  try  as  gentle  Kingsford  would  to  tame  her, — 
and  the  gentry  tried  every  approved  method,  Jean 
grew  up  a  friend  of  the  wild  things  on  the  Ledges, 
knowing  the  haunts  of  the  earliest  arbutus  and  of  the 
slyest  foxes.  Day  after  day  she  would  be  found 
only  after  long  search  stretched  luxuriously  like  a 
young  panther  in  the  sun,  and  once  —  an  affair  that 
ended  in  sordid  whipping  —  they  came  upon  her, 
naked  as  Eve,  splashing  in  the  deep  swimming  hole  be- 
hind a  screen  of  young  willows.  She  would  make  no 
outcry ;  she  would  not  trouble  her  guardian  by  so  much 
as  a  word  or  a  mutinous  look ;  but  sure  enough,  once  in 
so  often,  say  after  school  had  been  in  session  for  a 
couple  of  weeks,  off  Jean  would  slip  clear  of  the  vil- 
lage, to  come  home,  late  at  night  sometimes,  under 
the  stars  or  through  the  rain. 

"  I  can't  be  but  just  so  good,"  she  explained  pa- 
tiently, after  she  had  been  brought  home  from  a 
trip  over  the  great  drawbridge,  when  the  ice  was  in 
the  river,  and  a  northeaster  with  snow  in  it  set  every 
truss  and  girder  vibrating  like  a  fiddle  string. 

"  But  I  can't  spend  all  my  time  worrying,  child," 
her  guardian  replied  tartly.  "  Take  off  your  wet 
shoes." 

"  Don't  worry."  Her  strong  young  arms  slipped 
around  his  neck,  and  her  eyes  smiled  bravely  at  him. 


12  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  I  must  keep  you  safe  and  sound,  my  girl.  For 
your  father's  sake."  The  stern  old  face  grew  sterner. 

"  But  —  but  not  in  prison,"  Jean  answered,  loos- 
ing her  hold.  "  Even  a  nice  prison  like  your  house. 
Father  didn't  mean  that." 

The  Squire  laughed  then,  as  he  had  on  the  morn- 
ing when  Jean  came  into  his  room  for  the  first  time. 
"  No,"  he  chuckled,  "  that  idea  wouldn't  please  him, 
I  guess  —  not  a  prison." 

The  region  where  Jean  considered  that  true  de- 
lights were  to  be  found,  were  the  round  backed  jumble 
of  low  wooded  ridges  of  pink  granite,  called  the 
Ledges,  which  shut  in  Kingsford  on  the  eastern  side, 
and  formed  for  Jean  the  boundary  of  the  world.  It 
was  just  the  place  to  cry  in  when  one  felt  a  bit  lonely, 
for  not  a  soul  could  hear  or  see  except  one's  favorite 
venerable  oak  or  friendly  fine  lady  birch;  while  if  one 
were  gayer,  here  were  ever  so  many  gay  little  com- 
panions, like  the  young  leaves  or  the  honest  squirrels, 
with  whom  to  pass  a  jolly  day.  Of  course  Jean  never 
told  what  she  did  or  what  she  thought  of  on  these  days 
afield,  for  Kingsford  would  not  understand  and  might 
possibly  laugh.  The  secret  little  pagan  rites,  where- 
in her  young  blood  and  the  smiling  sun  and  the  bird's 
song  all  took  part,  were  never  handed  down.  Part  of 
the  joy  of  them  was  their  secrecy.  But  once  Jean 
found  that  she  was  not  the  only  worshipper ;  and  that 
was  a  day  she  long  remembered. 

It  was  mid  June,  and  directly  after  breakfast  she 
had  slipped  out  and  away  before  the  Squire  could  get 


JEAN  13 

her  to  tell  him  her  plans,  because  she  felt  that  he  was 
going  to  disapprove  of  them.  She  had  endured  al- 
ready some  of  his  bitter  complaints  —  he  had  worn  his 
blackest  look  when  she  came  downstairs,  much  the 
same  as  on  that  day  she  first  came  to  Kingsford. 
For  an  hour  or  so  she  lay  out  on  a  warm,  mossy  ledge 
in  the  sun,  her  head  pillowed  on  her  hands,  watching 
the  sail  of  the  clouds,  when  she  heard  a  stone  slip 
from  its  place  in  the  path  below  her.  In  a  second 
she  was  up  and  away ;  and  when,  screened  behind  some 
thick  cedars,  she  looked  back,  her  surprise  was  great 
when  Mr.  Warden's  soft  white  hat  appeared  over  the 
edge  of  the  ridge.  He  was  following  a  faint  old  cow- 
path  which  Jean  supposed  she  alone  knew  about,  and 
which  would  lead  him  directly  past  her  hiding-place. 
It  ended,  she  remembered  swiftly,  at  the  abandoned 
house  where  the  murder  had  taken  place  years  before ; 
and  Jean  had  time  to  wonder  what  in  the  world  her 
utterly  precise  guardian  could  find  to  do  in  so  des- 
olate a  spot.  She  did  not  breathe  as  he  passed  her  by. 
He  walked  painfully,  looking  flushed  and  uncomfor- 
table in  his  stiff  clothes,  and  his  expression  was  like 
nothing  she  had  ever  seen,  though  she  had  weathered 
more  than  one  of  his  storms. 

But  curiosity  overcame  her  first  fear  that  Mr.  War- 
den was  searching  for  her.  She  waited  till  he  was 
well  by  her  place  of  concealment,  and  then,  cautious 
as  an  Indian  and  light  footed  as  a  panther,  Jean 
crept  after  him,  not  in  the  path  but  through  the  pines 
to  the  right,  where  the  brown  needles  made  the  walk- 


14  THE  UPPER  HAND 

ing  noiseless,  and  the  clumps  of  mountain  laurel 
would  afford  her  excellent  cover,  in  case  he  should 
happen  to  turn  around.  For  a  good  quarter  of  a 
mile  she  followed  along,  sometimes  losing  sight  of  the 
white  hat,  which  was  her  guide,  but  when  again  she 
caught  a  glimpse  of  it  and  the  Squire's  spare  figure, 
it  was  to  feel  the  surer  that  the  old  gentleman  had 
some  particular  business  at  the  tumble-down  house. 

At  last  the  trees  opened  out  on  a  rough  clearing, 
mostly  overgrown  with  huckleberry  bushes,  but  show- 
ing some  traces  of  former  occupancy  besides  the  little 
story-and-a-half  dwelling  in  the  middle.  The  Squire 
stiffly  passed  a  ruinous  rail  fence,  and  with  a  steady 
step,  like  a  man  bent  on  business,  wound  his  way 
through  the  knee-high  growth  right  up  to  the  door. 
Here  he  stopped  and  slowly  looked  all  around  the 
clearing.  Jean's  heart  was  in  her  mouth  when  his 
keen  eyes  rested  for  a  minute  on  the  thicket  behind 
which  she  was  crouching,  but  it  was  plain  that  Mr. 
Warden  thought  he  was  quite  alone.  He  fumbled  in 
an  inner  pocket,  and  drew  out  an  envelope.  Then  — 
and  at  this  point  Jean's  conscience  began  to  scold  her 
for  playing  the  spy  —  he  heaved  up  that  one  of  the 
rough  sandstone  slabs  which  was  next  to  the  door- 
step, thrust  the  letter,  whatever  it  was,  under  the 
stone,  and  replaced  it,  taking  great  care  not  to  leave 
any  evidence  that  it  had  been  moved. 

Before  he  had  quite  finished  this  queer  perform- 
ance Jean  had  fled.  A  panic  picked  her  up  bodily. 
What  she  had  seen  frightened  her,  for  it  was 


JEAN  15 

uncanny  to  think  that  her  staid  and  starchy  guardian 
would  go  through  an  act  that  had  in  it  a  quality 
sinister,  somehow,  and  certainly  furtive.  She  was 
sorry  she  had  seen  him  put  his  letter  in  that  deserted 
post-office;  and,  though  she  wondered  all  the  time 
what  it  could  mean,  Jean  ran  from  the  scene  like  a 
deer.  Down  another  little  wood-road  she  fled,  with 
many  a  look  back  over  her  shoulder.  She  never 
thought  of  her  Ledges  as  harboring  anything  but 
what  was  dear  and  gentle,  yet  she  seemed  to  have 
stood  in  the  presence  of  some  very  different  divinity. 

Her  eyes  were  still  wide  with  fright  and  her  color 
was  high  as  she  broke  out  of  the  woods,  to  find  her- 
self in  a  little  circular  dell  or  glade,  which  was  banked 
solidly  around  its  rocky  margin  with  the  pink  glory 
of  the  mountain  laurel.  Her  path  lost  itself  here, 
and  to  get  out  into  the  open  she  had  to  force  a  way 
between  two  of  the  glowing,  exquisitely  delicate 
bushes. 

"  I'll  be  very  careful,  dears,"  Jean  said  to  the  flow- 
ers, for  they  were  among  her  favorite  friends. 
"  Will  you  let  me  put  you  one  side  —  so  —  very 
carefully? "  Stooping  a  little  she  lightly  turned 
back  one  of  the  sprays,  so  as  to  pass  without  marring 
its  perfect  beauty ;  but  even  as  she  touched  it  with  her 
slim  fingers,  she  drew  back  a  step  and  the  warm  glow 
in  her  cheeks  deepened  a  bit. 

A  young  man  was  there,  not  five  yards  from  her, 
and  Jean  was  sure  he  must  have  heard  her,  though 
he  was  apparently  hard  at  work  with  his  palette  and 


16  THE  UPPER  HAND 

brush  before  a  fairly  large  canvas  —  evidently  one 
of  the  painters  who  the  year  before  had  come  to  the 
village.  The  next  second  he  glanced  up  quickly,  and 
their  eyes  met. 

"  I  was  hoping  you'd  come,"  he  said  coldly.  "  I've 
waited  for  you  so  many  times  this  last  week  or  so." 

"For  me?" 

To  her  certain  knowledge  the  man  had  never  laid 
eyes  on  her  before,  but  she  could  not  help  answering 
him. 

"  Vera  dea,"  he  replied  in  a  tone  of  conviction. 
"  I  think  you're  the  spirit  of  the  laurel  which  I've 
been  trying  to  call.  There  are  wood-gods  left,  you 
know,"  he  added,  with  a  whimsical  cock  of  his  round 
head,  though  his  eyes  and  mouth  were  wholly  serious. 

Jean  nodded.  "  They're  friends  of  mine,"  she 
said  gravely.  "  All  of  them." 

"  Of  course,"  he  replied.  "  But  I  don't  see  them 
very  often,  being  nothing  but  a  painter.  If  I'd  been 
a  shepherd  now,  like  those  old  fellows  in  the  Latin  — ! 
However,"  he  continued  hopefully,  "  you  came  at 
last."  And  he  added  to  himself:  "If  she'll  only 
keep  that  pose,  if  she'll  only  stay  just  as  she  is !  Just 
for  half  an  hour.  That  pink  and  white  and  gold 
and  —  good  Lord ! "  he  concluded  lamely,  but  with 
entire  enthusiasm.  "  You  have  a  sister  who  lives  in  the 
spring  just  below  the  big  white  oak.  Her  name  is 
Arethusa." 

Jean  felt  a  queer  pleasure  in  the  man's  talk.  All 
her  training  rose  up  to  forbid  her  standing  to  con- 


JEAN  17 

verse  with  a  young  and  unvouched-f or  artist ;  but  she 
answered,  quite  calmly: 

"  She  is  my  oldest  sister." 

"  And  what  shall  I  call  you?  "  asked  the  man. 

"  Names  are  such  stupid  things,"  Jean  replied. 
"  Don't  you  think  so?  We  can  get  along  perfectly 
without  them,  Painter." 

"  You'll  stay  then?  " 

"  This  is  my  part  of  the  woods,"  she  said,  serenely. 
"  And  —  and  I  think  I  will  let  you  paint  the  laurel, 
if  you  want  to." 

"  That  means  you,"  said  the  artist  warningly. 

Jean  looked  down  at  the  spray  of  blossoms,  then  at 
the  young  man,  then  over  her  shoulder.  She  was 
afraid  somebody  might  see  her  —  the  Squire,  for  in- 
stance; but  the  next  second  she  was  ashamed  to  have 
been  afraid. 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  paint  me?"  she  asked  curi- 
ously. She  could  not  understand  why  the  man  should 
spend  his  time  over  her  when  the  beautiful  laurel  was 
so  much  prettier. 

"  Because  you  are  a  part  of  the  day  and  a  part  of 
that  pink  and  white  stuff  all  'round  you.  Also  be- 
cause you've  been  running.  Can  you  stand  just  like 
that  for  a  few  minutes,  please?  " 

"  But  I'm  all  —  my  hair's  all  — "  she  began,  with 
a  remorseful  look  at  her  dress  and  a  hasty  brush  at 
the  light  tendrils  of  pale  gold  that  lay  on  her 
temples. 

"  Don't  touch  it ! "  he  begged  her,  and  forthwith' 


18  THE  UPPER  HAND 

broke  into  a  little  song  of  many  verses  and  a  quaint 
jolly  air. 

"  That's  French,"  said  Jean  judicially.  "  I  know- 
just  a  little.  The  teacher  at  school  used  to  sing  that 
when  she  was  in  her  room,  and  didn't  think  anybody 
was  listening." 

"  Oh,  no!  "  the  man  cried.  "  Don't  you  remember 
where  you  really  heard  it?  It  was  in  a  little  village 
called  Giverny.  You  inhabited  the  garden  of  the 
greatest  painter  in  the  world;  and  once  I  sang  the 
whole  thing  through,  as  you  stood  —  or  at  least  I 
thought  so  —  and  smiled  at  me  while  I  painted  his 
hollyhocks.  That  was  because  the  picture  really  had 
some  sun  in  it." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Jean,  thoughtfully.  "  I  like 
sunshine,  Painter." 

The  half  hour  slipped  by  unnoticed,  for  this  broad 
shouldered,  clear  eyed  man  who  loved  the  gods  of 
wood  and  garden  had  much  to  tell  of  his  own  world, 
and  his  voice  was  as  mellow  as  honey.  There  wasn't 
a  particle  of  harm  in  listening  to  him,  Jean  assured 
herself,  for  he  was  very  nice  about  keeping  himself 
anonymous,  and  seemed  content  to  believe  that  she 
really  and  truly  was  a  dweller  on  the  Ledges  instead 
of  Squire  Warden's  ward  with  two  years  more  at  Miss 
Stafford's  school. 

At  last  he  withdrew  a  dozen  steps  from  his  easel, 
and  to  Jean's  surprise  did  not  return  as  he  had  before. 

"Would  you  care  to  look?"  he  asked  doubtfully, 


JEAN  19 

though  his  face  was  bright  with  perfect  satisfaction. 
"  What  d'ye  think  of  it?  " 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Jean,  hardly  believing  what  she  saw. 
"  Was  it  really  like  that?  " 

"  Better,"  said  the  painter.     "  It  always  is." 

The  canvas  glowed  with  delicate  pink  tones 
against  the  forest  background  —  a  glory  of  sun- 
warmed  color,  and  through  the  midst  of  it  came  a  slim 
figure  who  the  next  instant  would  be  off  and  away,  so 
fugitive  was  her  attitude,  so  instinct  with  movement 
every  line  of  her  tender  figure.  She  looked  at  Jean 
half  shyly,  half  smiling,  under  her  wide  white  hat  — 
very  young  and  entirely  lovely  in  her  confidential 
youth. 

Jean  turned  away  after  a  breathless  minute.  For 
the  first  time  in  her  life  she  had  been  told  how  she 
looked.  Loving  the  beautiful  things  of  the  world, 
she  rejoiced  to  know  that  she,  too,  was  beautiful,  like 
the  laurel  and  the  June  sunshine,  and  she  knew  that 
she  ought  to  thank  this  man  for  showing  her  this. 
But  she  crimsoned  with  mortification  also,  for  it 
seemed  as  though  he  had  somehow  caught  her  un- 
awares. An  older  woman  would  have  been  pleased 
enough  at  the  portrait,  but  Jean  was  only  sixteen 
or  so,  you  see. 

"  D'  you  like  it,  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  almost  in  a  whisper.     "  Only  — ^ 

"  It's  the  best  thing  I  ever  did,"  the  man  volun- 
teered. "  I'm  sure  of  it." 

"Really?" 


20  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  And  I've  worked  to  get  it,"  he  added,  in  a  sudden 
flare  of  temper.  "  So  many  years !  But  we've  done 
the  trick  now  —  for  it's  your  picture  as  much  as 
mine.  I  wonder  if  you  know  how  grateful  I  am  ?  " 

"  Did  I  truly  help?  I  tried  to  stand  still.  But  I 
enjoyed  it  ever  so  much.  It  was  fun,"  explained 
the  wood  nymph  hastily.  "  I'm  glad  if  I  helped  you, 
Painter." 

"Mayn't  I  see  you  again?"  he  asked  confusedly, 
for  Jean  was  going.  He  followed  at  her  side.  "  I 
want  to  thank  you.  I  — " 

"  No,"  she  answered.  She  could  not  bear  the 
thought  of  "  seeing  him  again."  "  We  —  I  —  I 
must  be  going  home  now.  Thank  you.  Good-bye." 
And  the  stranger  fell  back  instantly. 

She  wished  that  she  had  a  clinging  long  train 
and  a  majestic  presence  as  she  crossed  the  little  glade, 
for  she  could  feel  that  the  artist  was  watching  her; 
and  it  was  hard  to  look  dignified,  like  Miss  Staf- 
ford, unless  one  looked  like  her  in  other  respects. 

"  How  foolish  I  am ! "  she  said  to  herself  after 
about  ten  steps.  "  One'd  think  I'd  done  something 
awful." 

And  just  then  the  man  called  out:  "  The  laurel's 
fading  already,  Swift-foot." 

"  But  it  will  bloom  again ! "  she  replied,  trumpet- 
ing through  her  hollowed  hands.  "  Then  come, 
Painter." 

And  neither  of  them  believed  that  they  ever  would 
see  each  other  again,  for  their  ways  were  very  dif- 


ferent  —  the  one  leading  to  Paris  and  success,  the 
other  back  to  the  dull  school  where  one  was  taught  all 
that  a  young  lady  should  know. 


m 

THE    REBEL 

REFLECTING  Kingsford  sentiment,  Mr.  War- 
den was  willing  to  have  people  believe  that 
the  current  of  his  life,  even  in  the  years  in 
which  Jean  was  growing  up,  ran  as  smoothly  as  the 
little  river's.     That  was  what  a  summer  boarder  once 
said  about  it,  and  the  truth  of  the  comment  was  not 
only  never  questioned  by  anybody  in  town,  but  only 
at  certain  infrequent  intervals  by  the  Squire  himself. 
"  There  may  be  Satan's  own  lot  o'  rocks  and  rapids 
just  a  little  below  the  top,"  he  silently  mused,  when 
the  saying  was  repeated  to  him.     "  But,  Lord,  it's 
only  the  top  that  shows.     So  what's  the  use  o'  worry- 
ing?" 

His  days  and  nights  followed  one  another  as  un- 
eventfully as  the  stars  follow  the  sun,  though  all  the 
time  he  was  understood  to  be  growing  richer ;  and  all 
the  time  he  certainly  grew  harder  and  harsher  —  ex- 
cept toward  Jean.  For  her  he  seemed  to  have  a  feel- 
ing akin  to  respect.  He  never  loved  her,  that  was 
sure,  though  he  did  his  duty  perfectly.  She  had 
been  sent  in  due  time  to  the  famous  school.  She  had 
everything  a  girl  who  is  very  young  and  very  beauti- 
ful and,  according  to  Kingsford,  very  wild,  could 


THE  REBEL  23 

want;  but  between  herself  and  the  old  man  who  was 
her  guardian,  there  was  a  barrier  that  could  not  be 
thrown  down.  Perhaps  she  perceived  dimly  some  of 
the  trouble  below  the  calm  surface;  but  she  did  not 
ever  think  of  setting  a  name  to  it,  even  though  she 
might  have  dreamed  of  some  mystery  which  wrapped 
their  two  lives  together.  No,  Squire  Warden  led  as 
pleasant  a  life  as  the  next  man,  so  far  as  the  keen- 
eyed,  shrewdly-guessing  village  could  see,  until  the 
winter  that  the  trouble  began  at  the  wool-mill,  along 
with  the  preaching  of  young  Sebastian  French. 

Kingsford  had  never  bothered  its  head  much  over 
labor  questions.  It  had  always  seemed  natural  that  a 
man  should  pay  his  help  what  was  fair  and  square 
and  that  the  help  should  put  in  a  good  day's  work. 
That  was  as  far  as  the  village  had  progressed  until 
the  return  of  French  from  his  job  in  the  city.  From 
then  on,  however,  there  was  stir  enough;  and  this  it 
was  which,  for  the  first  time,  made  a  difference  in 
Squire  Warden's  looks.  That  any  talk  about  "  the 
rights  of  labor  "  or  "  minimum  wage  "  should  come 
from  his  mill  and  his  hands  seemed  a  kind  of  disgrace 
to  the  good  gentleman,  to  whom  the  old  ways  in  poli- 
tics and  religion  were  the  best  ways.  His  fixed  res- 
olution to  fight  to  the  end  a  single  newfangled  notion 
was  based  on  the  idea  that  he  was  master  of  his  own 
mill ;  it  did  not  spring,  as  French  strove  to  show,  from 
a  rooted  hostility  toward  the  workingman. 

So  the  spring  passed  of  that  year  which  Kingsford 
can  never  forget,  it  was  so  full  of  strange  happen- 


24  THE  UPPER  HAND 

ings.  And  at  last,  on  a  certain  heavy  cloudy  June 
morning  that  came  to  pass  which  everybody  had  ex- 
pected, but  which  led  in  the  end  to  certain  things 
being  said  and  done  which  the  most  experienced 
prophet  could  hardly  have  foreseen. 

When  Mr.  Warden  came  out  of  the  house  he  saw 
Jean  standing  by  the  hitching-post,  talking  softly  to 
Katie,  the  old  white  mare.  A  musical  little  ripple  of 
laughter,  gay  as  a  bird's  song,  drifted  up  to  him. 
Katie  nodded  her  wise  old  head  and  pawed  the  earth, 
pretending  that  she  was  young  and  full  of  ardent 
spirits. 

"  I  was  asking  her  a  question,"  Jean  explained, 
turning  to  the  Squire.  "  Would  you  like  to  know 
what  it  was?  " 

"  What  was  it? "  There  was  something  in  the 
girl's  presence  that  warmed  the  cheerless  old  man  in 
spite  of  himself,  like  spring  sunshine.  Nor  could  he 
help  a  feeling  of  pride  in  her  delicate  beauty,  noting 
approvingly  her  slim,  upright  poise  and  the  burnished 
hair  as  it  rippled  smoothly  upward  above  the  small 
pink  ear.  For  a  moment  he  forgot  the  trouble  that 
the  day  was  almost  sure  to  bring  him.  "  I  suppose 
Katie  answered  you  ?  "  he  remarked. 

"Yes,  indeed;  and  just  as  she  ought  to.  She 
said,"  Jean  whispered  mysteriously,  "  that  I  could 
come  with  you  this  morning." 

She  laughed  again,  but  a  bit  uncertainly,  as  if 
her  nonsense  masked  a  deeper  feeling.  Her  grey 


THE  REBEL  25 

eyes  under  the  dark  lashes  were  full  of  anxious  en- 
treaty. 

"  Uncle,  dear,  may  I  go?  " 

"  That's  a  queer  wish,"  he  said  suspiciously. 
"  Why  d'  you  want  to  go  to  the  mill  ?  " 

"  I'd  so  love  it !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  It  would  be  so 
exciting  if  they  tell  you  that  they're  going  to  strike. 
And  everybody  says  that  Sebastian  French  is  so 
dangerous,  that  I'd  like  to  see  him  —  or  hear  him. 
And  I'd  like  to  see  you  —  defy  them  to  do  their 
worst.  And  — " 

"  You  want  to  hear  French,  eh?" 

"  Yes,  uncle.  Everybody's  talking  about  him," 
she  repeated,  less  hopefully,  as  she  saw  the  Squire's 
bitter  smile. 

"  I  guess  he  don't  need  any  encouragement."  He 
unhitched  the  mare,  and  clambered  into  the  buggy. 
"  There  won't  be  any  scene.  He  won't  make  any 
speech  this  morning." 

"  But,  uncle,  I'd  so  love  to  go." 

Mr.  Warden  laughed  shortly  as  the  best  way  of 
answering.  There  was  no  real  reason  for  his  refus- 
ing to  take  Jean  with  him,  except  his  desire  to  make 
as  little  of  the  strike  as  possible  (if  it  really  should 
be  declared),  and  the  feeling  that  somehow  her  pres- 
ence would  make  young  French  believe  himself  really 
important. 

"  Please !  "  begged  Jean,  walking  beside  the  buggy. 

"  Impossible,  child.     Another  time." 


26  THE  UPPER  HAND 

Jean  sprang  away  with  a  little  gesture  of  im- 
patience. The  Squire  pulled  Katie  up. 

"  Then  I'll  do  something  else  just  as  desperate," 
Jean  announced,  "  as  listening  to  the  socialist  orator 
challenging  the  tyrant."  Her  smile  could  not  dis- 
guise her  resentment.  "  I  shall  run  away  again." 

"  No !  "  he  replied  vaguely. 

"  The  minute  you're  out  of  sight,"  she  insisted, 
real  mutiny  in  her  eyes.  "  Uncle,  it  will  be  so  dull 
here  all  day  long." 

Mr.  Warden  shook  his  head,  and  gathered  up  his^ 
reins  with  a  sigh.  "  Let's  have  no  oddities,  at  any 
rate,  please,  young  lady.  I'm  not  strong  enough  to 
carry  any  more  worries." 

With  that  he  drove  away,  leaving  Jean  to  look 
after  him  up  the  deserted  street.  It  was  not  till  the 
crook  in  the  road  by  the  post-office  hid  both  the 
hooded  buggy  and  the  white  mare  that  the  girl  left 
her  place,  and  then  with  another  queer  little  gesture* 
she  turned  and  went  wearily  into  the  big  house,  slowly 
as  any  prisoner  returning  to  his  cell. 

Mr.  Warden's  face  wore  its  bitterest  and  harshest 
expression  as  he  descended  from  his  carriage  and 
anchored  Katie  to  the  great  chestnut  tree  which 
shaded  the  whole  of  the  yard  in  front  of  the  mill.  He 
stood  listening  intently.  There  was  a  murmur  of 
voices  nearby,  but  that  was  all.  From  the  great 
overshot  wheel,  which  should  have  been  thundering 
briskly,  there  came  no  sound.  A  dozen  bales  of  wool, 
which  some  farmer  had  brought  to  be  washed,  were 


THE  REBEL  27 

still  piled  high  on  the  battered  wagon.  The  doors 
and  windows  of  the  mill  stood  wide  open,  so  that  it 
was  plain  that  the  foreman  at  least  had  been  here ;  but 
of  him  or  his  men  there  was  not  a  trace,  except  the 
stream  of  talk  which  the  Squire  could  hear  running 
briskly  somewhere  near. 

The  talk  sounded  louder  as  Mr.  Warden  went  in- 
side; and  he  was  a  bit  puzzled  to  locate  it,  since  the 
mill  was  as  empty  as  his  hand.  Then,  after  he  had 
crossed  the  building  to  the  further  side  and  came 
close  to  a  window,  he  stopped  short  and  listened 
keenly,  his  jaw  thrust  out  and  his  brows  drawn  down. 

A  number  of  men  outside  were  laughing,  but  with 
an  angry  note  in  their  mirth.  Then  an  eager,  shrill 
voice  broke  in  on  them,  as  though  it  had  paused  just 
for  a  second. 

"  I  tell  you  it's  true !  "  the  speaker  cried.  "  God 
didn't  mean  for  the  land  to  be  owned  by  just  a  few 
men.  It's  for  everybody.  Ain't  that  right?  I  can 
prove  it.  And  God  didn't  mean  for  all  the  money  to 
belong  to  one  class  —  the  same  as  Warden  owns  'most 
everything  here  in  this  town.  We  do  the  work,  don't 
we?  We  get  the  wool  scoured  and  the  corn  'n'  gar- 
den stuff  planted.  Well,  then!  We're  goin'  to  get 
the  profits.  We're  goin'  to  go  on  shares  —  not  on 
the  slave  wages  of  the  money-kings!  It's  got  to 
come,  I  tell  you !  " 

Mr.  Warden  listened  carefully  a  bit  longer.  A 
kind  of  grim  smile  came  into  his  face,  as  on  a  sudden 


28  THE  UPPER  HAND 

resolve  he  climbed  the  rickety  stairs,  and  looked  out 
of  an  upper  rear  window. 

Below  him,  lounging  on  the  grass  along  the  edge 
of  the  sluice-way,  lay  his  workmen,  and  on  a  plank 
that  was  stretched  across  the  rushing  water  stood  a 
slab-sided  young  man,  whose  dark,  pale  face  was  all 
alight  with  some  fire  of  feeling. 

"  They  can't  resist  us,"  he  cried  with  a  savage 
gesture,  "  if  we  rise  in  our  might !  " 

"  You  don't  say  so,"  drawled  the  Squire  quietly 
from  his  place  in  the  window.  "  I  want  to  know." 

Some  of  the  men  scrambled  to  their  feet  at  once, 
with  a  sheepish  laugh;  and  all  of  them  turned  away 
from  the  orator  at  the  sound  of  the  old  man's  twang- 
ing voice,  just  for  a  minute;  and  then  they  looked 
again  to  their  leader.  The  young  man  stepped  back 
a  pace.  The  plank  he  was  standing  on  shook. 

"  Be  careful  not  to  get  your  feet  wet,  Sebastian 
French,"  the  Squire  affably  resumed.  "  You  look 
kind  o'  foolish  teetering  on  that  board." 

French  flushed  hotly  at  the  low  laugh  that  followed 
from  some  of  the  men. 

"  Better  come  onto  dry  land  before  you  rise  in  your 
might.  It's  dangerous  to  try  that  unless  you're  sure 
of  your  footing."  He  waited  till  the  other  had 
crossed  the  plank.  "  What  holiday's  this,  boys  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Warden. 

French  whispered  hastily  to  a  couple  of  the  older 
men,  then  looked  up.  "  We'd  like  to  confer  with 
you,  sir.  Will  you  listen  ?  " 


THE  REBEL  29 

"  For  three  minutes,"  said  the  Squire.  "  No, 
don't  stir.  Stay  down  there  right  where  you  are." 

The  old  man  had  them  at  a  disadvantage.  He 
chose  to  lean  out  of  the  upper  window,  so  that 
French  had  to  address  him  from  far  below,  and  at 
such  a  distance  that  the  latter  was  obliged  to  shout 
vigorously. 

"  Louder,  please,"  quoth  Mr.  Warden,  shaking  his 
head.  "  You  forget  that  I'm  a  little  deaf."  This 
after  the  young  man  had  delivered  his  ultimatum  in 
tones  that  thrilled  every  other  man  present.  "  II 
didn't  catch  the  last  part." 

"  An  eight-hour  day ! "  shouted  French,  perspir- 
ing. 

"  Yes." 

"  An  increase  of  twenty  per  cent  in  the  pay !  " 

"  I  hear." 

"  And  at  the  end  of  the  fiscal  year  — " 

"The  what?     Physical  what?" 

"  The  fiscal  year  —  the  business  year !  " 

"Oh!" 

"  The  mill  to  be  run  on  the  co-operative  plan.  So 
we  can  share  the  profits.  Do  you  hear  me  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,"  replied  the  old  man.  "  You  speak 
very  plainly.  Is  that  what  you  all  want,  boys  ?  " 

A  murmur  of  assent  ran  through  the  staring 
crowd. 

"  Never  complained  till  now,  did  ye  ? "  The 
Squire  paused  between  each  sentence.  "  Thought 
you  were  lucky  to  get  a  steady  job.  Now  you  lay  off 


30  THE  UPPER  HAND 

to  hear  that  rattle-headed  boy  talk  nonsense,  and 
think  that  it's  going  to  pay  better." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  while  his  pale  eyes 
searched  the  faces  of  the  confused,  heated  crowd. 
There  were  not  many  that  could  meet  his  sneer  and 
scorn. 

"  I've  got  a  word  to  say  in  this  conference,  too." 

Again  he  halted.  Then  he  darted  out  his  arm,  and 
pointed  straight  at  French. 

"  You're  discharged !  " 

He  tossed  out  a  brown  envelope,  which  somebody 
picked  up  and  handed  to  the  leader  almost  mechan- 
ically. 

"  There's  your  pay.  I  had  it  ready,"  he  said 
contemptuously.  His  anger  seemed  to  flame  up  in  a 
flash.  "  Leave  my  premises  this  minute !  "  he  com- 
manded in  a  voice  that  branded  like  an  iron.  "  If 
you  come  back  without  my  permission,  I'll  jail  you 
for  trespass.  I'll  have  no  anarchists  in  my  pay." 

French  flushed  deeply,  but  his  expression  was  not 
that  of  a  beaten  man. 

"  It's  your  mill,  sir,"  he  replied.  "  Just  for 
now,"  he  added. 

"  Quite  so,"  rejoined  the  Squire.  "  Leave  it. 
You'd  better  learn,"  he  went  on,  turning  to  the  men, 
"  that  7  run  this  place." 

French  had  taken  a  couple  of  steps  up  the  bank 
toward  the  gate  while  Mr.  Warden  spoke ;  but  the  low 
murmur  that  rumbled  through  the  crowd,  and  broke 


THE  REBEL  31 

out  into  the  excited  cry  of  some  man  or  other, 
checked  him. 

"  None  o'  that ! "  he  ordered  sharply,  when  he 
heard  what  the  fellow  was  bawling. 

"The  miU  ain't  Warden's  —  not  by  right,"  the 
man  repeated,  and  shouldered  his  way  through  the 
little  group.  "  Tell  us  how  you  got  it,  old  man,  if 
you  dare.  I  ain't  afraid  of  ye." 

"  You  stole  it ! "  cried  another  voice.  "  You 
skinned  John  French  out  of  it ;  you  screwed  him  when 
he  couldn't  pay,  and  took  all  he  had  on  airth." 

It  was  a  woman  who  screamed  the  taunt  from  the 
fringe  of  the  crowd  down  by  the  sluice-way. 

"  And  now  you  fire  his  son,  jest  for  talkin'  salva- 
tion to  us  poor  folks.  Jest  for  meanness,  /  say.  I 
know  the  promise  y'  made  to  get  rid  on  all  the 
Frenches.  Beggars,  y'  called  us.  I'm  one  on  'em. 
Beggars  we  be,  but  we  ain't  dirt  mean  like  some  folks. 
And  I  hope  to  God  Sebastian  '11  get  even  with  ye! 
Fire  him,  if  y'  wanter,  y'  old  white  bearded  thief. 
He's  got  friends  as  '11  stay  by  him.  He  has.  He  — " 

"  Ssh !"  from  the  crowd.  "  Shut  up,  Mis'  Garth ! 
Don't  y'  say  no  more." 

"Anything  else?"  inquired  the  Squire  coolly, 
though  he  looked  like  death.  "  Some  more  testimony 
from  the  mourners'  bench  ?  " 

"  Just  a  word,  sir,"  French  cried.  "  I  don't  be- 
lieve what  that  woman  said." 

"  It's  true  as  Gospel,"  the  old  man  replied.  "  I 
took  your  father's  mill  because  he  couldn't  pay  me 


32  THE  UPPER  HAND 

what  he  owed ;  and  I'm  discharging  you  because  — " 

"  For  spite !  "  yelled  the  woman. 

"  For  spite,"  echoed  Mr.  Warden.  "  Exactly.  I 
think  you're  a  nuisance.  Out  with  you !  " 

The  men  surged  forward,  urged  on  by  Mrs.  Garth's 
whipping  words. 

"We'll  go  with  French!"  they  cried.  "We'll 
stand  by  you,  Sebastian." 

French  struck  an  attitude.  "  God  defend  the 
right !  "  he  cried. 

"  God  help  you  when  you're  hungry,"  retorted  the 
sneering  old  voice  in  the  window.  And  without  an- 
other word  he  watched  them  climb  the  bank  and  pass 
around  the  corner  of  the  mill  toward  the  exit.  The 
water  in  the  sluice-way  chuckled  as  it  slipped  past 
the  idle  wheel.  The  woman  who  had  spoken  looked 
back  as  she  turned  the  corner,  and  with  a  laugh  that 
was  very  mirthless,  spat  into  the  little  stream. 

"  That's  what  I  think  of  you !  "  she  cried.  "  Y'  old 
miser ! " 

In  an  hour  the  news  had  gone  all  through  Kings- 
ford,  for  the  mail  was  being  distributed  as  the  little 
band  of  strikers  came  down  the  street,  and  everybody 
was  on  hand  to  hear  their  story  of  how  their  demands 
had  been  met. 

"Who'll  join  us?"  suddenly  asked  French  of  the 
few  farm-hands  who  were  loafing  on  the  platform. 
"Who  stands  for  better  times  in  Kingsford?  D'ye 
think  your  dollar  and  a  half  a  day's  enough,  boys? 
With  work  from  sun-up  till  dark?  Jake  Flanders, 


THE  REBEL  33 

your  boss  has  fired  all  his  help  at  the  mill.  Will  you 
take  his  money  ?  " 

The  Squire's  man  stared.  "  He  hain't  said  nothin' 
to  me  abaout  gettin'  through,"  he  replied.  "  I  guess 
you  fellers  've  been  givin'  him  some  back-talk,  ain't 
ye?" 

"  You  come  along,"  interposed  one  of  the  strikers. 
"  We're  goin'  'cross  the  river,  Jake." 

A  slow  and  happy  smile  crossed  Jake's  face. 
"  Who's  treatin'?  "  he  asked. 

"  No  getting  drunk,  Bill,"  said  the  leader. 

"  Aw,  nonsense ! "  The  man  moved  off  happily, 
with  the  crowd  around  him.  "  We're  jest  goin'  to 
show  Jake  what  he'd  oughter  do.  We're  goin'  to  con- 
vert him." 

French  yielded,  but  with  a  sigh,  watching  his  fol- 
lowers drift  down  the  street.  "  A  good  time  don't 
hurt  anybody  now  and  then,"  he  declared,  masking 
his  disappointment.  "  They're  good  boys." 

"  An'  it's  you  that'll  help  'em  to  be  better,"  cried 
Mrs.  Garth.  There  came  a  volley  of  remarks  from 
Colonel  Gregory  at  that,  who  was  Mr.  Warden's 
sworn  ally,  but  though  the  day  before  the  woman 
would  have  retreated  before  the  old  gentleman's  wrath 
in  confusion,  now  she  waited  till  his  speech  was  ended, 
and  took  French  by  the  arm. 

"  Look  at  me,"  she  commanded.  "  He  calls  you  a 
rascal,  Sebastian.  This  is  what  your  friends  think 
of  you."  And  she  kissed  him  on  the  cheek.  "  God 
bless  you,  boy." 


34  THE  UPPER  HAND 

The  young  man  laughed,  and  good-naturedly  freed 
himself  from  the  woman's  grasp. 

"  Be  sure  'n'  come  to  the  meeting  tonight,"  he 
said.  A  singular  light  shone  in  his  black  eyes.  He 
shook  back  his  hair.  "  Give  God  the  praise  for  all 
the  mercies,"  he  whispered,  looking  up  through  the 
high  elms  to  the  sky,  "  shown  to  us  poor  folks  today." 
He  had  come  back  to  his  native  Kingsf  ord  to  find,  now 
that  the  years  had  opened  his  eyes,  that  conditions  in 
the  village  were  worse  than  he  had  fancied.  He  saw 
houses  back  on  the  hills  empty  and  desolate,  and  the 
brush  and  weeds  covering  the  rocky,  little  fields;  he 
heard  the  whimper  of  hungry  children,  the  shrill 
scolding  of  wives  at  husbands  whose  work  as  farm- 
laborer  or  mill-hand  brought  home  so  little  money. 
The  empty,  hangdog  faces  of  the  boys,  the  girls' 
laughter  from  dark  places  of  an  evening  came  to  op- 
press the  young  man  like  a  nightmare.  Alone  in  the 
street  at  night,  he  had  looked  into  the  softly  lighted 
houses  of  the  gentry,  and  bitterly  cursed  the  easy 
selfishness  of  their  smooth  lives.  He  could  not  wor- 
ship in  a  church  like  Kingsf  ord's,  where  the  rich  sat 
apart  from  the  humble,  both  lulled  by  a  gentle  dis- 
course on  the  duties  which,  cried  French,  were  long 
forgotten.  He  choked  when  one  of  his  rough  com- 
panions once  touched  his  hat  to  Squire  Warden,  as  he 
drove  by. 

"  Do  you  call  that  man  your  better?  "  he  demanded 
fiercely. 


THE  REBEL  35 

"  He's  a  lot  richer'n  I  be.  I  don't  know.  I  allus 
does  it." 

"  It's  wrong,"  the  reformer  cried.  "  The  whole 
system." 

"  Guess  you  won't  change  things  much.  There 
ain't  any  chance  for  a  feller  in  the  country  nohow." 

The  big  eyes  glowed.  "  You  think  so?  Not  in 
New  England?  " 

"  No,"  the  other  replied  dully,  and  fell  again  to 
grinding  his  nicked  axe. 

"  We'll  see,"  said  French.  "  We'll  work  for  our 
people,  Bill." 

The  gentry,  recalling  the  heavy-browed  pale  boy, 
who  brought  them  fish  now  and  then,  or  helped  pick 
the  strawberries,  laughed  lightly  when  first  the  young 
man  began  to  preach  to  their  field-hands  or  kitchen- 
maids.  Later,  when  they  overheard  the  talk  at  the 
post-office  of  an  evening,  when  there  came  from  the 
windows  of  the  abandoned  Methodist  meeting-house, 
declarations  concerning  the  rights  of  the  laboring 
man,  Colonel  Gregory  and  his  friends,  like  Mr. 
Warden,  told  one  another  that  Sebastian  French  was 
a  revolutionary,  dangerous  fanatic. 

"  The  comforting  thing  is  that  he  can't  accom- 
plish much,"  said  Mr.  Warden. 

"  D — n  him  and  his  mission,"  roared  Colonel 
Gregory.  "  The  blasphemous  rascal  says  that  Christ 
was  the  first  socialist." 

The  minister,  to  whom  this  speech  was  addressed, 


36  THE  UPPER  HAND 

smiled  uncertainly.  "  How  very  strange !  "  he  mur- 
mured. 

The  last  house  toward  which  French  headed  on  that 
hot  morning  after  the  scene  at  the  mill  was  set  just 
above  the  bank  of  the  little  river,  which  bounded  the 
village  on  the  west.  The  place  was  like  a  dozen 
others  he  had  visited,  and  here  he  lived,  though  a 
good  many  jokes  were  made  about  a  reformer's  board- 
ing with  Mrs.  Bannard  and  Jessie.  The  white  paint 
was  scaling  off,  some  scrawny,  ragged  chickens  stalked 
about  the  door-yard,  affecting  great  dignity;  in  the 
upper  windows  more  than  one  pane  was  stuffed  with 
newspaper.  A  broken  wheelbarrow  had  been  left  to 
rot  away  under  an  apple  tree. 

A  girl's  laughter,  shrill  and  loud,  and  the  end  of  a 
song  trolled  out  by  some  deep-lunged  baritone 
brought  French  around  the  corner.  Here  was  an 
arbor  covered  thinly  with  a  straggling  grapevine; 
and  thither  he  picked  his  way  along  a  weedy  brick 
path. 

"  Jess  Bannard !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  What  are  you 
doing?  " 

"  Posin'.     Like  it?  " 

In  her  brown  eyes  and  on  her  lips  remained  traces 
of  her  laughter;  the  hot  sun,  breaking  through  the 
arbor,  dappled  her  yellow  hair  and  warm  skin  with 
dancing  light;  her  round  throat  and  firm  breast,  a 
white  waist,  loosely  hooked  and  worn  threadbare,  re- 
vealed more  than  concealed.  She  was  standing  quite 


THE  REBEL  37 

still,  but  there  hovered  about  the  girl  some  suggestion 
which  breathed  a  sunny,  lazy  wickedness. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  see  this,"  said  French,  a  bit  uncer- 
tainly. It  was  hard  for  him  to  define  the  impression 
he  got  from  her.  "  Today  of  all  times." 

"  I  ain't  doin'  any  harm,"  she  whined,  for  the  fresh 
defiance  in  her  voice  quickly  faded,  as  he  stood  re- 
garding her. 

"  I  don't  say  so.  But,"  said  French  somberly,  as 
he  turned  from  Jessie  to  the  man  who  sat  before  a 
light  sketching-easel  set  up  in  a  corner  of  the  arbor, 
"  harm  is  being  done  to  you." 

"  Look  here,"  said  the  painter,  as  the  striker  faced 
him,  "  I  think  you'd  better  go  away."  Jessie 
screamed  as  the  artist  rose  to  his  feet.  He  motioned 
her  to  be  quiet.  "  What  do  you  want,  anyway  ?  " 

"  To  save  that  child's  soul,"  replied  French  reso- 
lutely. 

"  She's  mine  for  these  two  hours,"  the  artist  re- 
plied, crisply.  He  had  resumed  his  seat.  "  Come 
again,  Mr.  — " 

"  French,"  said  the  other,  seeing  an  opportunity. 
"  You've  heard  of  me  ?  "  The  man's  breast  swelled. 

"  Indirectly,"  came  the  answer,  chilling  as  frost. 
"  But  I'm  glad  to  meet  you.  My  name's  Dana 
Grey." 

"  You  won't  stand  in  my  way,"  continued  French 
eagerly.  "  Let  me  appeal  to  your  better  nature  — 
as  a  man,  sir.  Don't  you  see  how  you're  undoing  the 


38  THE  UPPER  HAND 

good  by  —  by  painting  a  picture  of  what's  bad  in 
her?  " 

"  So,  so,  so,"  Grey  whispered,  busy  again  with  his 
brush,  as  his  model  laughed  once  more.  "  If  she'll 
only  keep  that  — " 

French  tossed  his  head,  shaking  back  his  heavy 
mane  of  black  hair,  and  then  deliberately  took  a  seat 
in  the  corner  of  the  arbor  opposite  his  enemy.  He 
waited  a  moment,  till  he  saw  some  of  the  girl's  as- 
surance fade  again  from  her  face.  She  shifted  her 
pose  a  trifle.  He  heard  her  sigh.  "  All  your  prom- 
ises forgotten,  Jessie?  What  does  God  think  of 
you?" 

She  crumpled  slowly  like  a  flower. 

"  What  wrong  does  God  think  of  her?  "  cried  Grey 
impatiently.  "  You're  a  bit  high-handed,  Mr. 
French.  Come ! " 

"  How  came  that  devil's  look  on  her  face  ?  "  the 
other  retorted  hotly.  "  That  mockery,  that  — " 

"  Nonsense.  She's  a  piece  of  the  sunlight.  And 
as  a  study  those  warm  tones  on  the  flesh  and  in  the 
hair  are  tremendously  interesting.  They  — " 

"  She's  going  to  peril  her  soul  by  standing  there. 
I  know.  I  can  see.  Let  her  go,  Grey.  Let  her 
come  to  me."  The  air  seemed  to  quiver  with  the 
passion  of  French's  pleading  'voice.  As  he  talked, 
the  painter  worked  with  less  fervor;  and  when  at  last 
he  paused,  Grey  laid  down  his  brushes  and  palette. 

"  Come  here,"  he  ordered  brusquely,  and  Jessie 
walked  to  him.  He  took  her  hand  and  looked  up  at 


THE  REBEL  39 

the  clouded  brightness  of  her  face.  "  Is  it  true  that 
you've  been  a  bad  girl  and  tried  to  go  straight? 
Or,"  he  turned  her  to  look  at  the  glowing  sketch  on 
the  easel,  "  do  you  think  that's  prettier  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  she  cried,  hiding  her  eyes.  "  I  want  to 
be  good.  I  want  —  O,  Sebastian !  " 

"  You  may  have  been  partly  right,"  said  Grey  to 
French.  "  I  didn't  think.  If  I've  done  any  wrong 
here,  forgive  me.  Both  of  you."  And  with  no  more 
words  he  took  his  paint-rag  and  scrubbed  the  canvas 
into  a  colorless  smear. 

"  God  bless  you  for  helping !  "  cried  French.  "  I 
knew  you  wouldn't  put  a  stone  in  our  path,  if  you 
only  understood." 

"  Of  course  not.  Half  a  minute,"  said  Grey, 
watching  the  pair  closely.  "  Here's  the  pay  for  the 
time  you  posed,  Jessie." 

She  recoiled  a  couple  of  steps.  "  I'll  not  touch  it," 
she  said.  "  Not  now."  And  then  she  went  up  the 
path  to  the  house. 

"Fine!"  the  artist  exclaimed.  "That's  first 
class." 

"  She  might  have  done  some  good  with  it,"  French 
remarked.  "  Perhaps  — " 

"  You  take  it,  then." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  the  preacher, 
pocketing  the  silver.  "  It's  for  the  Cause." 

"Yes?" 

A  little    look   of  contempt  crossed   Grey's    face. 


40  THE  UPPER  HAND 

French  looked  around  the  corner  of  the  arbor  after 
Jessie.  She  waved  to  him,  then  disappeared. 

"  I  guess  I  was  too  prompt  in  blamin'  you,  Mr. 
Grey,"  he  said.  "  She's  very  pretty." 

"You  noticed  it?" 

"  Couldn't  help  it,  could  I?  " 

Grey  was  getting  the  straps  around  his  sketching 
outfit,  and  tugged  hard  to  slip  the  tongue  of  a  buckle 
into  place.  At  length  he  looked  up,  a  bit  flushed. 

"  Do  you  know  that  you're  a  very  interesting  crea- 
ture, Mr.  French?  You'll  do  a  good  deal  in  your 
world,  but — " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  demanded  French  redly, 
getting  to  his  feet. 

"  Your  cosmos  is  still  chaos,"  drawled  the  painter, 
as  he  strode  out  into  the  sunlight.  "  Think  that  over 
when  you  have  time." 

Jessie  was  waiting  for  him,  when  French  came  out. 

"  I  guess  you'd  most  forgotten  me,"  she  sighed. 
The  eyes  flashed  up  to  his,  then  dropped.  She 
studied  her  fingers.  "  You  haven't  hardly  spoke  to 
me  this  week." 

"  You  think  you  need  me?  "  he  asked,  smiling  at 
her,  "  Thank  God  my  words  helped  you." 

"  Won't  you  stay  a  minute?  " 

"  Can't  do  it,  Jess.     I've  got  to  tend  to  things." 

"  Did  they  really  strike  ?  "  she  asked  with  a  show 
of  interest. 

"  Well,"  said  French,  "  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  old 


THE  REBEL  41 

Warden  got  kind  of  shook  up  —  just  a  little  —  before 
we're  through." 

He  shook  his  head  confidently,  and  hurried  away 
again  up  the  weedy  lane* 


IV 

A    MAID    EBRANT 

JEAN  had  no  more  than  closed  her  heavy  front 
door  behind  her,  after  watching  her  guardian 
drive  away,  than  she  was  confronted  by  Mrs. 
Marsden,    the    housekeeper  —  a    garrulous    soul    im- 
ported from  Vermont  after  the  reign  of  Mandy  and 
her  sister  had  passed  away. 

"  Whatcher  goin'  to  do  today  ? "  the  woman 
asked. 

"  I  shall  be  busy,"  Jean  replied,  vaguely  enough, 
"  all  the  morning." 

"  See  anybody  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  But  you  say  you're  goin'  to  be  busy,"  the  house- 
keeper persisted,  blinking. 

Jean  moved  irresolutely  toward  the  staircase,  with 
a  laugh  that  told  of  nerves  stretched  taut.  At  the 
lowest  step  she  turned.  Mrs.  Marsden  was  watch- 
ing her  like  a  hawk,  and  from  the  walls  four  or  five 
Warden  ancestors  stared  at  her,  too,  from  their  dark 
backgrounds.  There  was  only  one  of  them  whose 
eyes  were  kindly  —  a  debonair  damsel  in  a  straw  hat, 
great-aunt  Sylvia,  whom  Copley  painted  as  a  bride 
after  her  scandalous  runaway  with  Captain  Jack 


A  MAID  ERRANT  43 

Gregory;  but  all  the  other  Wardens  stared  down  at 
Jean  disapprovingly,  and  you  could  see  how  con- 
tented they  were  to  be  respectable  worthies  with 
revolutionary  forbears  and  a  lot  of  money  in  the  West 
Indian  trade. 

"  Look  away  —  all  of  you !  "  cried  Jean  suddenly 
to  the  portraits  and  the  housekeeper.  The  latter 
gasped  in  amazement  and  righteous  indignation. 
"  What  makes  you  all  follow  me  so?  " 

"  Well,"  Mrs.  Marsden  whined,  "  you  needn't  be  so 
cross,  just  because  I  try  to  look  out  for  you. 
"  That's  what  Squire  told  me  I  was  to  do,  the  fust 
minute  I  come  here." 

Again  the  riddle  of  the  old  gentleman's  careful 
watching!  At  times  it  seemed  to  spring  from  sheer 
love  of  her  —  this  when  the  question  came  on  the 
heels  of  one  of  his  queerly  lavish  gifts;  again  Jean 
felt  the  Squire's  eyes  as  a  guilty  man  feels  the 
searching  glance  of  the  quiet  fellow  who  is  ever  be- 
hind him  in  the  street.  But  when  she  taxed  him  with 
it,  now  in  resentment,  again  in  a  kind  of  gratitude, 
Mr.  Warden  would  deny  that  he  watched  her  ways 
for  a  moment. 

"  Suppose  that  I  did  keep  an  eye  on  you,"  he  once 
said  (and  this  was  the  only  time  he  was  near  acknow- 
ledgment), "  you're  more  valuable  than  you  have 
any  idea  of,  Jean." 

"  They  why  can't  we  be  friends,  Uncle? "  she 
asked  plaintively  enough,  for  she  had  felt  very  lonely. 

"  You    are  Jean  Wilder,"  he  answered    vaguely, 


44  THE  UPPER  HAND 

and  I  am  —  myself.  That's  all."  Nor  could  she 
coax  from  him  another  word. 

She  was  to  stay  for  always  in  Kingsford;  she  was 
to  live  the  life  which  was  suitable  for  the  adopted 
daughter  of  a  venerable  and  opulent  village  race. 
She  was  to  grow  into  a  second  Miss  Whittaker,  and 
at  the  thought  her  young  limbs  stretched  as  if  fet- 
tered ;  standing  there  in  the  hall  with  all  the  dead  and 
worthy  Wardens,  Jean  felt  her  blood's  eager  course. 
The  next  moment  took  her  from  the  staircase  foot  to 
the  long  glass;  and  there,  ignoring  Mrs.  Marsden, 
she  studied  her  beauty  deliberately,  inch  by  inch,  from 
the  soft  crown  of  hair  down  to  the  supple  lines  of 
hip  and  thigh  as  they  showed  beneath  her  skirt.  And 
because  she  found  herself  still  so  young  and  so  lovely, 
Jean  looked  out  of  the  old  house  into  the  world  where 
for  a  fair  and  spirited  maid  might  wait  adventures, 
just  as  when  she  was  a  little  girl.  Out  on  the  Ledges 
she  whispered  traitorously,  the  dull  day  might  seem 
less  leaden.  At  least,  from  a  place  she  knew  up 
there  on  the  highest  ridge  she  could  see  stretched  out 
the  whole  of  the  surrounding  country,  and  could 
dream  happily  of  what  lay  beyond  the  misty  horizon. 

"  I  think  I'll  go  out  for  a  little  while,"  she  said 
to  Mrs.  Marsden,  turning  abruptly  from  the  mirror. 
"  It's  too  fine  a  day  to  stay  in  the  house." 

"  Why,  Miss  Jean ! "  The  woman  was  fairly 
shocked.  "  It's  li'ble  to  rain  any  secont." 

"  You  think  so?  "  Then  she  stopped,  raised  her 
head,  sniffed  suspiciously,  and  looked  a  startled  ques- 


A  MAID  ERRANT  45 

tion.  "  Mrs.  Marsden,  I'm  not  sure,  but  it's  possible 
that  something's  scorching  on  the  range." 

"  My  land  alive ! "  The  dumpy  little  woman 
fairly  leaped  into  the  air.  "  If  I  don't  spile  that 
there  cook's  peace  o'  mind.  I  —  but,  be  you  really 
goin'  out  ? "  She  queried  as  she  scuttled  up  the 
hall. 

"  Hurry ! "  cried  Jean,  pushing  her  along. 
"  Never  mind  me.  Think  of  that  caramel ! "  she 

urged,  as  Mrs.  Marsden  seemed  to  hesitate.     "  Now 

. 

then ! "  And  in  a  second  the  housekeeper  disap- 
peared, to  have  the  door  locked  behind  her. 

"  She  must  be  able  to  tell  uncle  that  she  didn't 
know  just  where  I  did  go,"  Jean  said  aloud.  Turn- 
ing to  the  pictures  again :  "  And  it  would  shock  you 
all  so  terribly,"  she  went  on,  in  a  mildly  explanatory 
voice,  "  to  see  me  choosing  to  leave  this  honorable 
mansion  that  I'm  just  going  to  relieve  your  minds. 
It's  no  sight  for  respectable  eyes." 

She  slipped  into  the  dining-room,  and  when  she  re- 
turned it  was  to  carefully  hang  big  napkins  over  the 
faces  of  all  the  ancestors.  It  was  a  long  up-stretch, 
even  from  the  chair  she  dragged  about  to  stand  on, 
and  the  total  effect  was  impossible  to  describe;  but 
Jean  went  about  her  task  very  seriously  in  spite  of  the 
smile  in  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  Only  great-aunt 
Sylvia  was  left  uncovered,  for  in  her  brown  eyes  was 
laughter  and  gentleness.  Jean  leaned  up  and  stroked 
her  cheek. 

"  You    understand,"    she    whispered.     "  You   ran 


46  THE  UPPER  HAND 

away  yourself,  sweeting.  I'll  tell  you  all  my  ad- 
ventures —  every  one,  and  we'll  laugh  about  them  to- 
gether tonight.  Good-bye." 

Then,  silent  as  a  mouse,  she  slipped  out  the  front 
door,  and  in  a  moment  more  had  skirted  the  lawn  be- 
low the  lilacs  and  syringas,  darted  down  the  lane  past 
the  great  barn,  and  set  her  face  eastward  to  the  dis- 
tant Ledges.  The  wind  was  cool  on  her  cheek  and 
her  bare  brown  throat,  and  the  struggling  sunshine 
lodged  in  her  sunny  hair. 

It  was  toward  evening  before  she  turned  home 
again.  She  had  followed  for  some  time  a  patch 
which  led  northward  along  the  crest  of  the  ridge,  in- 
tending to  enter  the  village  at  its  furthest  extreme, 
the  longer  to  delay  her  homecoming.  But  at  length 
when  the  narrow  track  forked,  Jean's  wilful  resolu- 
tion forsook  her,  and  she  chose  that  branch  which  led 
westerly;  for,  though  the  other  was  the  longest  way, 
and  would  bring  her  through  deep  woods  and  within 
the  sound  of  a  brook's  rushing  course,  it  was  also  the 
direct  road  to  the  tumbledown  farmhouse  of  evil 
legend,  where  on  that  June  day  six  years  before  she 
had  watched  Mr.  Warden  leave  his  letter  under  the 
slab  of  sandstone.  It  was  there  that  the  dreadful 
murder  was  done.  Once  or  twice  she  had  been  near 
the  place,  but  she  never  liked  to  approach  it,  for  her 
fancy  painted  ugly  pictures  of  the  scene  —  the  man" 
writhing  under  the  murderer's  knotted  fingers,  and 
then  stretched  out,  as  they  found  him,  under  the  cold 
flight  and  the  stormy  day.  Even  now,  realizing  the 


A  MAID  ERRANT  47 

nearness  of  it  all,  she  shivered  a  little,  and  hurried  on 
the  faster.  She  was  almost  running  when  a  stealthy 
step  and  the  light  crashing  of  underbrush  sounded  in 
the  thick  woods  beside  her  path. 

Jean  swerved  like  a  startled  horse,  and  stopped 
short.  It  scarcely  reassured  her  to  have  the  noise 
stop  when  she  did,  and  to  begin  again  as  she  went  on 
her  way.  Somebody  was  evidently  following  her, 
who  had  happened  to  see  her  when  she  was  passing 
along  the  bare  part  of  the  ridge.  For  a  moment 
she  thought  of  returning  the  way  she  had  come,  for 
in  the  open  she  could  at  least  see  who  her  tracker  might 
be;  then  she  remembered  the  village's  most  outlying 
farmhouse,  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  further  down  the 
path,  where  she  would  find  refuge. 

"  Don't  run,"  came  a  voice  from  the  thicket. 
"  There  ain't  a  mite  o'  danger." 

She  halted  instinctively,  and  faced  the  woods  with 
her  head  high,  though  the  beating  of  her  heart  hurt 
her. 

"  Who  are  you?  "  Her  voice  had  a  sorry  quaver 
in  it. 

"  Me?  I  ain't  got  any  special  identity.  I'm 
just  an  old  rascal,"  came  the  perfectly  affable  answer. 

"  What  are  you  following  me  for?  "  She  thrust 
her  hand  into  the  front  of  her  blouse  on  a  sudden  in- 
spiration. "  Keep  your  distance,  there.  I've  got  a 
revolver,"  said  Jean,  fibbing  desperately. 

"  Let's    see    it."     And    the    man    in    the  bushes 


48  THE  UPPER  HAND 

laughed  as  the  girl  merely  kept  her  hand  hidden. 
"  You  wouldn't  need  it  anyhow." 

Her  first  fright,  melting  into  a  kind  of  resigned 
helplessness,  gave  place  at  the  sound  of  the  hidden 
man's  whole-hearted  laughter  to  a  kind  of  curiosity. 
The  voice  was  not  exactly  that  of  a  rough  tramp; 
rather  did  it  have  something  of  sadness  in  it  and  old 
age.  So  Jean  held  her  ground,  sensible  that  she  ran 
some  danger,  yet  not  much  frightened,  and  wholly  in- 
terested. . 

"  So  long  as  you  stay  in  the  brush,"  she  announced, 
on  hearing  the  twigs  crackle  again,  "  I  — " 

"  Here  I  stay,"  came  back  the  emphatic  answer,  "  if 
you'll  only  keep  a-lookin'  my  way,  same's  you  be  now. 
I  s'pose,"  the  voice  continued  slyly,  "  that  I  couldn't 
guess  your  name." 

"  My  name's  nothing  to  you." 

"  It's  a  whole  lot.  Beggin'  your  pardon.  When 
I  seen  you  back  yonder,  and  cut  down  the  hill  the 
short  way  to  head  you  off — " 

"  So  you're  not  a  stranger  here ! "  she  exclaimed, 
trying  to  place  the  man. 

"  Ahem !  Partial  stranger.  I  was  wonderin' 
could  that  young  lady  with  yellow  hair  and  straight 
figger  be  Andrew  Warden's  ward.  That,"  he  added, 
"  is  a  hint." 

She  smiled  a  little.     "  You  may  have  been  right." 

"  Great  dee!"  The  ejaculation  came  sudden  as  a 
rifle  shot.  "  Jean !  Little  Jean !  " 

Then  fright  picked  her  up  again  like  a  hawk.    She 


A  MAID  ERRANT  49 

heard  the  strange  old  man,  if  such  he  was,  start  for- 
ward crashing  through  the  bushes;  she  heard  her 
name  called  again  hoarsely;  then  with  a  little  scream 
—  all  woman  now  —  she  fled  down  the  wood-road  at 
top  speed.  She  only  ran  the  faster  when  again 
somebody  hailed  her.  She  had  had  adventures 
enough  for  one  day 

"  Swift-foot !  Swift-foot !  "  cried  a  strong,  mellow 
voice. 

That  was  not  the  old  man.  She  half  turned  her 
head  to  listen.  Somebody  was  running  behind  her; 
and  when  Jean  looked  around,  breathless  with  fright 
and  surprise,  it  was  to  see  before  her  a  tall  fellow, 
turned  of  thirty,  whose  mouth  under  his  clipped  mus- 
tache was  firm,  whose  eyes,  blue  and  dark,  were  very 
honest  and  full  of  quiet  laughter  as  he  caught  up 
with  her. 

"  I  was  perfectly  sure  that  I'd  find  you,  if  I  only 
kept  searching,"  he  said  without  any  preamble,  fall- 
ing in  with  her  long  light  step,  for  she  had  stopped 
for  only  a  second,  and  now  set  out  again  at  a  quick 
walk.  "  And  I  knew  you  at  once." 

"  The  Ledges  seem  full  of  my  acquaintances,"  said 
Jean,  trying  not  to  betray  herself,  though  she  felt 
anyhow  but  calm.  "  You  say  you  know  me,"  she 
went  on,  "  and  just  now  somebody  called  me  by  name 
who  was  hiding  in  the  bushes.  Will  you  please  let 
me  go  on  alone  ?  " 

"  After  just  meeting  you?  " 

"  I  think  your  best  way  into  town  is  down  that 


50  THE  UPPER  HAND 

path,"  said  Jean  shortly,  pointing  to  another  little 
trail  that  forked  around  a  great  oak  and  disappeared 
to  the  left. 

The  stranger  laughed,  but,  to  her  great  relief, 
actually  turned  into  the  path  she  spoke  of.  "I  re- 
member," he  said  rapidly.  "  It's  the  prettiest  path 
in  this  part  of  the  world.  Once  I  saw  coming  down 
it  through  the  laurel  somebody  who  seemed  like  one 
of  the  laurel  blossoms,  for  she  was  pink  and  white 
and  fresh  as  June  itself.  I'm  going  there  now  — 
again.  For  she  told  me  to  be  there  in  the  little  clear- 
ing, when  the  — " 

"  Painter ! "  she  cried,  kindling  into  a  flashing 
smile. 

"  I  couldn't  help  speaking  to  you, — Swift-foot. 
For  I  wanted  you  to  know,  you  see." 

"  That  — "  she  began. 

"  That  I  remembered,"  he  said  quickly,  "  after  six 
years.  You'll  forgive  me  ?  For  remembering  ?  " 

"  What  if  you  had  forgotten  ?  " 

"  We  won't  consider  that  at  all,"  the  man  replied. 

"  He  is  thinner,"  Jean  was  saying  to  herself ;  "  his 
mustache  has  grey  in  it ;  his  face  is  full  of  lines  which 
show  that  he  has  been  in  trouble  and  hard  at  work. 
He  looks  like  a  man  who  has  gone  through  the  fire 
and  come  out  all  the  better.  And  —  oh,  how  queer ! 
—  he  must  be  the  great  man  who  Mr.  Duncan  said 
was  coming  to  Kingsford  and  could  paint  better  than 
any  of  them.  When  did  you  come  back?  "  she  asked 
aloud. 


A  MAID  ERRANT  5! 

"  Last  week,  and  — " 

"  I  think  you  must  be  Dana  Grey,"  said  Jean  ques- 
tioningly. 

"  And  sometimes  you  choose  to  be  called  Jean 
Wilder.  But  really,"  he  added,  "  you  are  the  last  of 
old  Pan's  company.  Here  is  where  you  are  most 
yourself,  I  know  —  deep  in  these  old  woods  or  up  on 
the  highest  ridge  yonder.  Please  don't  deny  it." 

"  They  are  very  dear  —  the  Ledges ! "  she  ex- 
claimed softly,  and  her  eyes  rested  on  him  approv- 
ingly. "  You  must  think  so  too, —  Painter." 

"  I've  come  here  every  day  since  I've  been  in  Kings- 
ford,"  Grey  replied.  But  just  as  Jean  had  begun  to 
resent  a  bit  what  sounded  like  a  rather  gross  compli- 
ment, he  added  with  enthusiasm :  "  The  Ledges  are 
the  most  paintable  country  in  America." 

And  then  Jean  did  not  know  but  what  she  felt  more 
resentful  still. 

"  I'm  glad  you  happened  along  today  just  when 
you  did  —  after  all,"  she  said.  "  For  another  rea- 
son. I  was  more  than  a  little  scared,  I'm  afraid,  for 
I  had  the  queerest  encounter."  And  she  told  him 
more  about  the  voice  that  spoke  to  her  out  of  the 
thicket.  "  You  didn't  mean  to  do  it,  and  at  first  I 
wasn't  sure  but  what  you  were  another  giant  seeking 
what  you  might  devour,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact,  you 
rescued  me  most  gallantly." 

Her  earlier  fright  came  back  to  her  a  little,  and 
she  glanced  about  her,  still  a  bit  uneasy,  for  once  or 
twice  during  her  quick  talk  with  Grey  she  fancied  to 


52  THE  UPPER  HAND 

have  heard  again  that  clumsy  step  on  the  dry  leaves, 
and  the  noise  of  parting  bushes,  as  though  the  un- 
seen man  was  still  close  by  them.  "  I  haven't  thanked 
you  yet." 

"  It  was  nothing,"  he  stammered.  "  I  was  coming 
home  this  way  anyhow." 

At  that  she  laughed  outright,  though  her  grey 
eyes  dwelt  on  him  a  moment. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Grey  remorsefully,  "  that  I  knew 
how  to  talk  with  people  who  don't  belong  in  my  shop." 

"  It's  easily  learned,"  she  replied.  "  You  should 
flatter  them  first  of  all." 

"  Let  me  paint  your  portrait  again,"  he  suggested, 
on  the  heels  of  her  last  word.  "  How's  that?  " 

"  Like  most  flattery,  very  unoriginal.  Every  art- 
ist in  Kingsf ord  has  said  the  same  thing  —  even  Mr. 
Duncan,  whose  specialty  is  painting  fog." 

"  But  I  mean  it,"  cried  Grey  impetuously.  "  You 
can't  imagine  how  interesting  a  problem  it  would  be. 
It'd  be  keyed  very  high  —  just  full  of  light,  you 
know,  like  the  other ;  and  with  some  white  dress,  clingy 
and  long  — " 

Again  she  laughed,  and  the  painter  stopped  short, 
surprised. 

"  It  would  take  a  deal  of  study,"  he  went  on,  "  but 
once  the  thing  was  caught, —  by  heavens,  it'd  be 
lovely ! " 

She  had  never  heard  a  man  talk  like  this  before. 
Studying  her  as  he  walked  at  her  side  down  the  for- 
est path  —  she  could  feel  the  burning  of  his  look  — 


A  MAID  ERRANT  53 

Grey  talked  only  as  if  Jean  might  stand  for  him  as 
a  model.  And  yet  she  saw  plainly  enough  that  the 
man  believed  he  was  doing  her  great  honor. 

"  Really !  "  Jean  exclaimed. 

"  Please  don't  think  me  rude,"  he  cried,  suddenly 
contrite.  "  I  grow  silly  when  the  picture  notion  gets 
into  my  head." 

"  I'm  not  angry  at  all,"  she  replied,  after  a  mo- 
ment's thought.  "  I  think  that  you're  being  very 
polite  to  me.  It's  because  you  thought  of  me  as  a 
part  of  your  work,"  she  said,  thinking  aloud. 
"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Grey." 

They  came,  after  some  more  talk  about  matters 
more  indifferent,  to  the  main  street,  and  here  Jean's 
way  lay  southward.  For  a  few  steps  Grey  kept 
along  beside  her;  but  soon  he  lagged  a  bit,  and 
glanced  up  at  the  lowering  afternoon  sky. 

"  Will  you  excuse  me  if  I  don't  go  with  you  any 
further?  " 

"  Do  you  want  to  leave  me?  "  she  asked. 

His  answer,  according  to  the  rules,  should  have 
displeased  her  sadly ;  it  was  not  at  all  that  which  an- 
other man  would  have  spoken. 

"  I'm  anxious  to  get  down  a  memory  of  the  marshes 
out  beyond  the  Ledges,"  he  said,  simply  as  a  child. 

"It's  work,  then?" 

"  While  the  light  lasts,"  he  replied,  accepting  her 
dismissal  before  it  was  given. 

Jean  held  out  her  hand,  and  Grey,  being  trained 
to  see,  noticed  how  strong  and  brown  it  was,  and  how 


54  THE  UPPER  HAND 

well-kept.  "Good-bye  then,"  she  said.  "Thank 
you  for  a  pleasant  half  hour." 

"  The  pleasure,"  he  stammered,  "  was  all  mine." 
And  with  no  more  words  he  posted  northward  toward 
the  quarter  of  the  village  his  tribe  was  camped  in, 
while  Jean,  with  a  queer  little  smile,  continued  on  her 
way  down  the  main  street. 

She  was  in  her  most  buoyant  mood.  The  sense  of 
nearness  to  the  big,  clear  out-door  world,  which  she 
always  felt  after  a  day  on  the  wooded  ridges  or  the 
whispering  salt-water,  lifted  her  out  of  herself.  She 
seemed  to  grow  in  grace  at  the  touch  of  wind  and  sun. 
And  the  queer  adventure  with  the  unseen  man,  the 
queer  talk  with  honest  Grey  had  given  her  a  whim- 
sical pleasure  tdo.  She  felt  recklessly  superior  to 
prim,  well-mannered  little  Sallie  Gregory,  who  joined 
her  at  the  Colonel's  gate,  and  offered  to  walk  home 
with  her. 

"  You  ought  to  come  walking  with  me  some  day," 
she  said  in  answer  to  Sallie's  gentle  complaint  of 
a  headache. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  like  it  so  —  just  being  in  the 
woods  all  day  or  —  or  tramping." 

"Really?"  Jean's  surprise  was  honest  enough. 
"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  considering.  "  I  suppose 
I  like  queer  things." 

Sallie  laughed  a  little  tartly.  She  was  just  pretty 
enough  and  just  enough  well-regulated  to  frankly 
envy  Jean's  evasive,  woodsy  beauty  and  to  disapprove 
of  her  behavior. 


A  MAID  ERRANT  55 

"  The  next  thing  we  know  you'll  be  going  to  the 
anarchy  meetings  instead  of  to  church,"  she  contin- 
ued. "  Look  there." 

On  the  door  of  the  abandoned  Methodist  meeting 
house  a  man  was  tacking  up  a  roughly  printed  notice 
of  a  meeting  to  be  held  that  evening.  As  the  girls 
passed,  he  looked  around,  and  they  saw  it  was  Sebas- 
tian French. 

Sallie  flushed.  "  I  hope  he  didn't  see  us  looking 
at  him,"  she  murmured  swiftly.  "  Oh,  dear !  " 

"  Let's  go  to  it,"  said  Jean.     "  Will  you?  " 

"Why,  Jean,  how  dreadful!" 

"  They  say  that  they're  great  fun.  Did  you  see 
what  time  it  began  ?  " 

"  Jean,  you  wouldn't  dare  go !  " 

The  other  shook  her  head,  then  leaned  back  to  look 
up  at  the  dull  twilight  sky  through  the  elms.  "  All 
the  Warden  ancestors  dared  me  to  desert  the  front 
porch  and  play  gipsy  on  the  Ledges,"  she  replied 
softly.  "  I'm  not  to  be  trusted  when  it  comes  to  pro- 
priety." 

"  Jean !  "  Sallie's  stock  of  exclamations  was  lim- 
ited, but  her  sincerity  was  unbounded. 

Then  the  girls  laughed  together  and  strolled  on. 
Once  Jean  looked  back  but  instantly  turned  her  head, 
instinctively,  when  she  saw  that  young  French  had 
come  down  to  the  edge  of  the  street  and  was  staring 
after  them. 

Grey  did  not  stop  till  he  came  to  his  studio.  This 
had  been  contrived  from  an  ancient  outbuilding, 


56  THE  UPPER  HAND 

which,  when  a  great  window  had  been  let  in  on  the 
north  side,  he  found  served  every  purpose  of  a  work 
room.  Within  were  three  or  four  chairs  huddled 
under  the  window,  and  the  battered  remains  of  a 
carved  mahogany  sofa.  In  a  corner  stood  the  heavy 
easel,  suggestive  somehow  of  a  guillotine.  It  was 
entirely  a  work-room,  bare  as  a  carpenter's.  Tubes 
of  paint  lay  scattered  on  a  rickety  old  washstand;  a 
sketching-kit,  half  unstrapped,  was  dropped  under  it ; 
a  two-quart  tin  milk-pail  held  a  thick  sheaf  of 
brushes;  from  a  nail  hung  the  great  palette  with  its 
riot  of  bright  colors. 

Grey  fastened  in  place  a  clean  canvas.  "  Now 
let's  see,"  he  muttered,  and  studied  with  half-shut 
eyes  a  curiously  numbered  and  swiftly  scored-in  pen- 
cil sketch  which  he  tore  from  the  last  page  of  the 
letter  he  took  from  his  pocket,  and  finally  pinned  on 
one  of  the  uprights  of  the  easel.  "  There's  light 
enough  left,"  he  added,  still  aloud,  with  a  haggard 
glance  out  of  the  window  and  another  at  his  watch, 
"  to  get  the  thing  down,  anyhow.  What  made  me 
waste  the  morning  with  Jess  Bannard  and  the  re- 
former, I  wonder?  " 

Then  came  some  more  study,  the  hand  tracing  im- 
aginary shapes  on  the  canvas;  then,  in  a  rush  of 
work  —  silent,  rapid,  almost  savage,  a  suggestion  of 
watery  meadows,  misty  hills  and  clouds  that  hung 
low  and  still  emerged  into  being  out  of  blankness  and 
chaos. 

Somebody  knocked  smartly  on  the  door,  but  Grey 


A  MAID  ERRANT  !57 

paid  no  attention.  He  even  suspended  his  work  to 
keep  the  more  rigid  silence. 

"Oh,  Dana!" 

Grey  looked  toward  the  door,  then  at  the  swift, 
splendid  draught,  then  at  the  sky  through  the  win- 
dow. 

"  Not  in,"  he  said.     "  Go  away,  Byram." 

"  I  will  not.  It's  getting  too  late  for  decent  work. 
You  must  stop,  my  son." 

Once  Byram  had  come  upon  Grey  when  the  latter 
had  driven  himself  eight  hours  a  day  for  nearly  a 
week,  with  the  drug  to  make  sleep  come  at  night; 
and  since  then  he  had  played  guardian  to  him,  break- 
ing in  relentlessly,  at  whatever  cost  to  himself,  at  the 
end  of  all  days  like  this. 

He  examined  the  already  glowing  canvas,  when 
Grey  let  him  in,  and  sighed.  "  It  will  do  —  for  a 
start.  Got  it  up  by  the  Ledges,  I  see.  And  you 
had  to  rush  home  to  get  it  down." 

"  Straight.  One  can't  afford  to  forget.  It  was 
too  good." 

"  But,"  Byram  interposed,  "  you  worked  at  Jess 
Bannard  all  the  morning." 

"  Work !  It  isn't  work,  boy,"  the  other  replied 
hotly.  He  laid  down  his  tools  and  dropped  into  a 
chair  with  a  groan.  "  It's  the  keenest  pleasure  some- 
times —  when  you  make  things,  you  know,"  he  ex- 
plained vaguely.  "  Or  else  it's  a  day  in  hell.  We 
know  more  about  the  hell  part,  I  guess, —  all  of  us 
who  are  worth  anything.  Heavens ! "  the  painter 


58  THE  UPPER  HAND 

exclaimed,  "  how  this  takes  it  out  of  a  man,  Byram !  " 

"Tired?     Aha!" 

"  I  confess.  But,"  cried  Grey,  "  I'd  have  killed 
anybody  who  tried  to  stop  me  from  posting  back  here 
this  afternoon." 

"  Did  anybody  try?  "  the  younger  man  asked  the 
question  purely  for  the  sake  of  keeping  the  talk  go- 
ing, and  of  giving  it  a  twist  to  some  lighter  subject. 

"  I  met  Miss  Wilder  coming  home,"  said  Grey 
sedately. 

"  You'd  have  stopped  your  work  all  day  for  her, 
if  she  had  suggested  it." 

"  Like  the  rest  of  Kingsford  so  far's  I  can  judge. 
Like  you,  boy,  if  you  were  wise.     But  she  sent  me 
home,  the  minute  I  told  her  that  I  wanted  to  go." 
'  "  She  certainly  is  — " 

"  Think  of  her  —  all  that  she  is  — -.  my  God,  By- 
ram, what  color !  —  prisoned  in  this  forsaken  village 
with  the  Squire  for  company !  Wish  she'd  let  me 
paint  her  again." 

"  You'll  make  a  sketch  of  the  lawyer's  nose  and 
whiskers  on  the  back  of  your  will,  I  believe." 

"  Very  probably,"  said  Grey.     "  I  like  to  paint." 

"But  not  too  long  at  a  stretch,  old  man.  'For 
that,"  added  Byram,  coming  to  the  other's  side, 
"  makes  you  as  white  as  you  are  this  minute." 

"  And  you're  a  good  lad  to  warn  me  off.  But  you 
see,"  cried  Grey,  rubbing  his  fists  into  his  eyes,  "  I've 
nothing  else  to  think  about,  boy." 

"  Who'll  ransom  a  painter  from  becoming  a  crotch- 


A  MAID  ERRANT  59 

ety  brute  because  he  paints  all  day  and  dreams  color 
all  night?  "  Byram  shouted  to  the  world  through  the 
open  door. 

But  Dana  Grey,  whom  men  looked  up  to  as  the 
coming  painter  of  landscape,  grew  fiercely  indignant 
with  Byram,  who  dared  to  contend  in  discussion  after 
supper,  that  even  a  painter  should  think  of  other 
things  beside  his  art. 

From  a  ruinous  bench  built  along  the  side  of  the 
abandoned  house  on  the  Ledges,  an  old  man  watched, 
solitary  and  silent,  the  coming-down  of  darkness  over 
the  village. 


V 

A    CONVERSION 

AT  dusk  the  sagging  clouds  dissolved  in  a  steady 
downpour,  which  wet  like  the  rain  of  a  thun- 
derstorm without  its  honest  violence.  The 
sandy  roads  gradually  turned  to  bogs,  lowland  to 
swamps,  two  or  three  of  the  village's  roofs  to  sieves. 
But  French's  party  somehow  felt  the  happier  for 
this  weather.  It  gave  them  a  sense  of  superiority  to 
the  gentry,  for  not  one  of  these  would  think  of  ven- 
turing out  on  such  a  night.  They  held  their  faces 
up  to  the  rain,  as  they  splashed  along  the  street 
toward  the  meeting  place  and  their  "  love-feast,"  as 
French  called  it.  Since  the  collision  at  the  mill 
rumors  had  gone  through  the  town ;  the  postmaster 
had  overheard  some  talk  between  Mr.  Warden  and 
Colonel  Gregory,  just  after  the  Squire  had  driven 
back  from  the  battlefield,  which  he  had  promised  to 
repeat,  so  that  nearly  all  of  working  Kingsford  had 
crowded  into  the  little  hall.  There  was  one  man, 
however,  who,  coming  late,  did  not  go  inside,  but  took 
up  a  stand  outside  under  the  drip  of  the  eaves,  and 
peered  cautiously  through  an  open  window,  as  though 
he  wished  to  see  without  being  seen. 

The  room  was  very  bare.     A  few  kerosene  lamps 
60 


A  CONVERSION  61 

in  brackets  around  the  white  walls  shed  a  dull  glim- 
mer. From  a  leak  in  the  corner  of  the  roof  great 
drops  spattered  noisily  into  a  pail  set  to  catch  them. 
The  damp  gusts  which  blew  in  whenever  the  door 
squeaked  open  did  not  much  dispel  the  air,  musty 
from  the  audience's  steaming  clothes  and  warm 
breath.  And  at  first  some  influence  from  the  place 
seemed  to  deaden  the  spirits  of  the  congregation  also. 
The  men  whispered  raucously  to  one  another  little  sen- 
tences a  couple  of  words  long,  while  the  women  sat  for 
the  most  part  pensive  and  restless  by  sudden  turns, 
contemplating  the  cracks  in  the  floor,  or  flouncing 
about  to  look  at  the  noisy  clock  over  the  entrance. 
Eight  o'clock  sounded.  The  man  outside  grunted  im- 
patiently. 

"  I  don't  see  why  our  leader's  not  here,"  remarked 
an  elderly  man,  getting  slowly  on  his  feet.  "  But 
he'll  prob'ly  be  here  in  a  second.  S'pose  we  begin 
without  him."  He  peered  over  his  glasses  at  the 
woman  seated  at  the  little  parlor  organ.  "  Ready, 
Jane  Perry  ?  " 

"  Let  her  go ! "  whispered  the  stranger  encourag- 
ingly. 

"What  shall  I  play?" 

"  I  think  '  Nearer  My  God,  To  Thee's '  a  sweet 
tune,"  hazarded  another  of  the  women. 

"  This  here's  a  love-feast,"  the  outsider  chuckled. 

"  It's  pitched  pretty  high,"  the  organist  replied, 
"  but  I  guess  maybe  we  kin  fetch  it." 


62  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  Amen,"  from  the  first  speaker.  He  had  contin- 
ued standing.  "  Now  then." 

"  Don't  let  it  drag,"  the  player  cautioned,  jamming 
hard  on  the  stiff  keys  of  the  organ.  "  First  'n'  last 
stanzys  is  enough." 

"  You're  right,  daughter.  More'n  that'd  be  too 
many  for  me!  " 

The  singing  droned  to  an  end,  one  alto  taking  her 
part  with  such  loud  and  aggressive  precision  that  the 
rest  of  the  voices  counted  for  little. 

"  A  prayer,  sisters  ?  "  suggested  Root,  grinning 
toothlessly.  "  On  this  day  of  rejoicin'?  " 

"  Well,  I'll  try."  It  was  Mrs.  Garth  who  arose,  a 
thin  little  being,  with  a  sensitive  mouth  and  a  com>- 
plexion  like  wax.  She  closed  her  eyes  and  gripped 
the  seat  in  front  of  her.  The  others  bowed  their 
heads.  The  silence  continued  a  moment  longer, 
broken  only  by  the  steady  drip  of  the  rain  from  the 
eaves.  The  onlooker  took  the  occasion  to  peer  around 
the  side  of  the  window,  wondering  what  caused  the 
sudden  stillness. 

"  O  God !  "  she  exclaimed  fervently,  clasping  her 
hands.  "  Thou  knowest  who  and  what  we  be.  Thou 
knowest  how  we're  sinners,  and — "  Again  she 
stopped,  and  this  time  for  so  long  that  the  heads 
came  up  from  their  supports  on  the  backs  of  the 
benches. 

"  You  ain't  took  faint  or  nothin',  be  ye?  "  asked 
Jane  Perry  anxiously. 

"  No,"  replied  the  little  woman,  shaking  her  head, 


A  CONVERSION  63 

with  a  frightened  look.  "But  I  can't  make  it  go, 
somehow.  Say,  there  ain't  nobody  peekin'  in  them 
windows,  is  they  ?  " 

"  Try  again.  There  ain't  nobody  listenin.  We 
ain't  goin'  to  hurry  ye  none,  Mis'  Garth." 

"  No,  no,"  she  replied.  "  It  ain't  any  use  a-tryin'. 
I  just  know  I  couldn't  pray  a  single  solitary  word. 
Thinkin'  that  I  saw  a  face  in  the  window  made  me  so 
nervous,  I  - —  well,  /  think,  it'd  be  nice  to  sing  again. 
How  about  "  Coronation,"  Jane?  " 

The  organist  turned  the  leaves  of  the  hymnal, 
studied  the  score  for  a  moment  with  puckered  brows 
and  hands  that  groped  in  fancy  after  the  more  diffi- 
cult chords,  then  nodded  vigorously  for  them  to  be- 
gin. 

"  Now  things  is  movin',"  one  of  the  men  remarked 
to  his  neighbor  under  cover  of  the  noise. 

"  Once  more !  "  called  Miss  Perry,  whose  thin  cheeks 
were  aglow. 

"  Amen !  Amen !  "  they  cried,  swinging  again  into 
the  tune. 

"  'Nother  verse,  friends !     The  Lord's  on  our  side." 

"  Arise,  Lord !  "  roared  a  big  fisherman,  spreading 
out  his  arms*  and  facing  them  from  his  place  near 
the  front. 

"  And  let  thine  enemies  be  scattered !  "  chorused  the 
rest,  all  but  Mrs.  Garth,  who  still  kept  her  eyes  on  th'6 
window. 

"  Let  'em  be  destroyed !  " 

"  Who  seek  after  my  soul  to  take  it  away."     And 


64  THE  UPPER  HAND 

a  roar  of  approval  followed  the  fisherman's  gesture 
toward  the  quiet,  high-pillared  house  across  the  street. 

"  They'll  rob  you,"  he  cried  hoarsely.  "  They've 
robbed  our  young  ones.  Why  won't  they  give  us 
livin'  wages?  Why,  I  ask?  'Cause  they're  all  ty- 
rants like  Warden  and  the  sons  of  tyrants,  I  say." 

A  little  man  burrowed  his  way  up  the  aisle,  breath- 
less and  wan.  He  panted  like  a  dog. 

"  Let  me  speak !  "  he  cried.     "  Down  in  front." 

"  All  down !     It's  the  postmaster." 

"  The  ladies'  man  of  the  town,"  said  the  unseen 
spectator,  again  venturing  to  look  in.  "  Now  what's 
he  got  to  say?  He  looks  like  'Before  Takin.' ' 

The  little  man  looked  up  and  down  the  packed 
benches,  where  men  wiped  the  sweat  from  the  fore- 
heads, and  women,  whose  eyes  glittered  like  panthers', 
could  hardly  be  made  to  keep  their  seats. 

"  He's  goin'  to  hire  some  other  men,"  stammered 
the  speaker,  breaking  desperately  into  the  middle  of 
his  speech.  "  I  heard  him.  A  thousand  dollars,  he 
says  he's  got  ready  to  beat  French  'n'  the  rest  of  you. 
He's  goin'  to  get  in  some  outsiders.  I  heard  old 
Warden  — " 

"  Damn  him  for  a  miser ! "  cried  a  man  from  a  dark 
corner. 

"  He's  been  doin'  the  business  all  day,"  the  orator 
went  on.  "  He's  got  the  cash  ready,  so  he  says, 
standin'  in  my  place  o'  business  as  cool's  a  cucumber. 
He'll  bring  f  urriners  — " 

"  That's  so,  is  it?  "     Once  more  the  bearded  work- 


A  CONVERSION  65 

man  arose.  He  deliberately  bared  a  hairy,  knotted 
arm,  hard  as  an  oak  bough.  "  Well,  God  help  the 
man  I  find  on  any  job  I  mighter  had." 

"  You're  all  right,  Bill." 

Then  the  door  opened,  but  one  of  the  noisy  crowd 
perceived  it.  The  newcomer  had  time  to  strip  off  his 
tight  overcoat  and  stand  listening  for  a  moment. 
What  he  heard  evidently  displeased  him,  for  his  heavy 
brows  puckered  and  he  shook  his  head  in  a  decided  neg- 
ative. 

"  That  talk  must  end  right  here !  " 

The  voice,  clear  and  high,  smote  the  heavy  air  like 
a  bell. 

"French!" 

They  made  for  him  with  cries  of  delight,  upsetting 
the  benches  in  their  eagerness  to  get  at  his  hand.  But 
he  waved  them  back. 

"  He's  no  friend  of  mine  who  talks  o'  violence  and 
murder,  Bill  Curtis.  God  don't  love  the  thoughts  in 
your  heart,  my  friend.  Think  a  minute." 

He  made  his  way  forward  to  the  pine  reading  desk, 
the  crowd  falling  back  confusedly. 

"  I'll  have  no  outsider  take  my  job,"  Curtis  re- 
peated slowly,  "  no  matter  what  you  say.  And  'twas 
you  that  started  the  whole  strike  business.  If  you 
want  to  back  out  —  " 

"  Shame !  "  from  the  crowd. 

"  I  say  *  no  violence,'  "  said  French  firmly.  "  But 
as  for  the  rest "  —  he  turned  swiftly  from  Curtis  to 
the  congregation ;  his  voice  rose  and  strengthened,  — 


66  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  we'll  fight  this  thing  to  a  finish.  Let  Warden  spend 
his  money  for  outside  help,  if  he  wants.  He'll  be 
sorry.  But,"  he  cried,  "  don't  you  know  that  God 
won't  bless  you  unless  you  deserve  it?  Unless  you're 
good?"  His  eyes  fell  on  Jess  Bannard,  who  had 
pushed  forward  to  a  seat  just  in  front  of  the  desk. 
"  Pve  tried  to  help  more'n  one  o'  you  in  the  past 
week.  I've  made  mistakes;  I've  done  wrong.  But, 
God,"  he  cried,  looking  up,  "  forgive  me  what  I  done 
wrong,  'n'  strengthen  my  feebleness." 

The  quick-coming  emotion  swept  the  reformer  up 
and  away.  His  prayer  flowed  from  him,  rough  and 
powerful  and  broken  as  the  great  river  in  spring. 

"  Who'll  be  next?  "  he  asked,  sweeping  the  benches. 
Jessie  stammered  a  few  breathless  syllables,  while  the 
crowd  strained  forward  to  hear.  "  Who  else  can  tell 
about  God's  mercy  and  love?  Who's  got  a  sin  to  con- 
fess, or  a  blessing  to  give  thanks  for?  " 

The  voice  was  compelling  —  tender  and  stern  at 
once ;  but  there  came  no  reply.  The  men  and  women 
smiled  encouragingly  at  one  another,  but  sat  fast. 

"  Ain't  there  nobody  ? "  He  laughed  gently. 
"  Maybe,"  he  went  on,  (but  his  eyes  now  were  bent 
on  something  far  beyond  the  scene  just  before  them), 
"  it's  because  you've  somehow  missed  the  meanin'  of 
things.  Sorrow  'n'  joy!  It'd  be  a  mighty  poor  life 
if  these  weren't  a  man's  hourly  shadow  and  his  hourly 
light,  friends.  The  —  the  reality  of  things!  Let's 
think  about  that  for  a  minute  or  two." 

Not  one  of  them  now,  though  he  understood  only  a 


A  CONVERSION  67 

part,  but  was  eager  to  listen ;  not  one  but  felt  the  little 
thrill  which  followed  this  young  man's  words  concern- 
ing the  great  things  of  life  and  death.  They  knew 
that  at  any  moment  such  promises  for  the  poor  and 
hopes  for  the  needy  might  be  shown  them  as  had 
marked  his  other  talks.  The  silence  was  absolute, 
save  for  Jessie's  quiet  sobbing ;  their  regard  was  fixed, 
rigid  and  strained,  with  eyes  that  shone.  Some  sat 
back  with  arms  locked  close  and  jaws  set  —  these  the 
older  men;  others  leaned  forward  as  though  ready  to 
start  up  at  the  preacher's  least  command  to  any  duty ; 
not  a  few  hid  their  faces  in  their  hands  bowed  forward 
on  the  back  of  the  bench  in  front  of  them. 

Suddenly  the  door  squeaked  again,  then  slammed  to 
on  some  back  draught,  and  for  an  instant  the  spell  was 
broken.  Mrs.  Barth  sprang  to  her  feet.  A  quick  an- 
ger whirled  the  crowd  about  to  face  the  intruder  re- 
sentfully. This  was  a  young  woman. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  murmured,  confused  by 
the  lights  and  the  rough  crowd's  attention.  "  The 
door  —  " 

"  Ssh !  Ssh !  "  from  half  a  dozen  angry  tongues. 
"Go  on,  French!" 

"  'Twas  a  man  that  I  saw,"  cried  Mrs.  Garth ;  but 
nobody  heard  her. 

The  girl  bit  her  lip.  But  in  the  next  second  she 
mastered  herself  and  slipped  into  a  seat  on  the  first 
vacant  bench.  She  did  not  even  glance  up  till  the 
little  disturbance  which  her  entrance  had  caused  was 
quieted,  and  the  congregation  was  once  more  all  at- 


68  THE  UPPER  HAND 

tention  on  their  leader.  Then  she  raised  her  head  and 
looked  him  full  in  the  face.  Ten  seconds  later  she 
dropped  her  eyes,  this  time  with  a  smile,  for  the  ex- 
horter  had  colored  under  her  cool  regard. 

The  girl  seemed  to  realize  how  fair  she  was  and  how 
singular  her  appearance  in  that  crowd  of  shabby  or 
slovenly  working  people.  But,  far  from  any  feeling 
of  discomfort,  she  looked  about  quite  at  ease.  There 
was  something  about  her  impertinent  and  well-bred 
at  once.  She  might  have  been  a  princess  incognito  at 
a  rag-fair.  This  for  five  minutes.  Then  her  grey 
eyes  grew  serious. 

The  speech  rolled  on  to  its  end.  One  last  appeal, 
and  young  French  bade  the  crowd  to  its  knees.  His 
face  was  white  with  emotion,  and  his  eyes  were  twin 
fires.  One  word  of  prayer  and  a  benediction,  then 
dismissal. 

Before  the  end  the  girl  was  sitting  very  still,  breath- 
ing deep.  She  remained  on  her  knees  a  moment 
longer  than  the  others;  when  at  last  she  rose  to  her 
feet,  her  face  showed  a  brighter  light. 

The  congregation  looked  from  her  to  French,  and 
back  again.  There  was  a  deal  of  sudden,  eager  whis- 
pering. 

"  Jean  Wilder !  "  It  was  Bill  Curtis  who  cried  the 
name,  with  a  note  of  triumph  that  pealed  out  like  a 
trumpet's.  "  You've  fetched  her,  French !  " 

"  She's  seen  the  light !  "  a  woman  cried,  flinging  up 
her  thin  arms. 

"  She's   laughin*    at    you    now,"   sneered   a   man. 


A  CONVERSION  69 

"  Back  home  with  you,  young  lady."  And  half  a 
dozen  others  echoed  him.  "  She's  old  Warden's  spy." 

"  That  is  not  true ! "  Jean  exclaimed,  standing  up 
to  her  full  height,  and  facing  the  angry  eyes  defiantly. 
"  That's  not  so." 

They  crowded  toward  her.  "  You're  on  our  side  ? 
Say  it,  if  that's  what  you  mean." 

"  Why,  yes,"  she  answered  simply,  and  with  a  sin- 
cerity clear  as  glass.  "  I  enjoyed  being  here  very 
much." 

A  cheer,  irregular  and  unchecked  but  given  with  a 
will,  made  the  lamps  jump  in  their  brackets.  They 
did  not  press  close  to  her,  something  in  her  bearing 
kept  the  crowd  away  as  they  would  have  edged  back 
from  a  princess ;  but  they  shouted  her  name  as  though 
it  was  a  war-cry ;  they  had  another  cheer  for  French, 
when,  half  heard  in  the  tumult,  he  cried  some  words 
of  happiness  and  prophecy.  The  girl  looked  on,  not 
quite  understanding.  She  even  laughed  a  low  little 
laugh  of  sheer  amusement  at  the  babble  and  confu- 
sion, but  nobody  saw  her  mirth,  and  a  quick  anger 
seemed  to  burn  out  from  the  medley  of  voices. 

French  raised  his  hand.  The  place  fell  quiet  in- 
stantly. "  Grant,  O  God,"  he  prayed,  "  that  what 
we  hope  to  be  true  may  in  Thy  Providence  come  to 
pass." 

"  Amen !     She  said  she  was  with  us." 

The  man  outside  the  open  window  chuckled  sardon- 
ically. The  congregation  filed  slowly  out.  There 
were  whisperings  and  a  grin  or  two.  But  Jean 


70  THE  UPPER  HAND 

watched  as  if  at  a  kind  of  show,  until  they  were  all 
gone  and  she  was  alone  with  the  lanky  young  preacher. 
"  Thank  you,"  she  said  quickly,  standing  up  as  he 
came  down  the  aisle.  "  Thank  you  ever  so  much.  I 
waited  to  tell  you." 

"  No,  no,"  French  protested  quickly.  His  breath 
still  came  pantingly.  "  I  ought  to  thank  you.  Don't 
you  see  how  your  bein'  here  will  help  us?  Yours?  " 
"  I  only  came  to  laugh,"  she  protested  in  turn,  her 
cheeks  scarlet  again.  "  I  came  just  because  Sallie 
Gregory  dared  me.  It  was  like  going  to  the  theatre. 
And  —  and  may  I  apologize  ?  " 

She  was  so  handsome,  bearing  herself  so  daintily! 
The  man  was  so  ungainly  and  pale!  Perhaps  the 
contrast  did  not  escape  him. 

"  You  won't  think  so  again  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly, 
following  her  to  the  door.  "  God's  here.  This  is 
His  house  just  as  much  as  — " 

"  I  know ! "  she  cried.  "  Please  don't  scold  me. 
Not  but  what  I  deserve  it.  For  —  Oh !  "  she  cried  ex- 
citedly, "  I'm  so  much  better  for  — " 

"  For  having  heard  what  I  said  ?  "  he  demanded 
eagerly. 

Jean  hesitated.  "  It  was  all  very  interesting,  I 
thought,"  she  answered  in  a  less  enthusiastic  key. 

They  were  outside  the  meeting-house  now,  standing 
in  the  dark,  the  rain  sifting  down  on  their  faces. 

"  I  only  hope  the  others  profited  —  ever  so  little," 
the  reformer  stammered.  "  For  —  for  I  try  my  best, 


A  CONVERSION  71 

you  know.  Will  you  come  again?  Sunday?  Oh, 
the  j  oy  of  this  evening !  " 

She  was  busy  with  the  buttons  of  her  rain-coat. 
"  You're  very  good  to  ask  me." 

"  Not  at  all.  If  only  you'd  come !  Maybe,"  he 
said  eagerly,  "  I  could  show  you  the  other  side  of  the 
labor  question." 

She  drew  away.  "  I  always  enjoy  a  good  sermon," 
she  replied,  a  little  stiffly  this  time.  "  But  I  don't 
care  to  be  converted  to  anarchy." 

"  We  have  right  on  our  side.  You  ought  to  let  me 
show  you.  These  workingmen !  And  you  say  you 
were  on  their  side." 

"  What  made  them  rant  so  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  actually  barred  her  passage,  and  did  not  see 
how  she  shrank  from  his  possible  touch.  "  Be  brave. 
Show  Kingsford  that  you're  willing  to  help  the  cause 
o'  freedom.  Let  me  ask  two  questions." 

"  I  must  go,  please.  My  uncle  will  be  home  by 
now." 

"  Old  Warden !  Will  you  tell  him  you've  been 
here?" 

"  Certainly.  Why  not  ?  "  She  smiled,  as  some 
thought  struck  her. 

"  But  —  but  he's  against  us.  The  war's  declared," 
said  French.  "  We've  struck !  " 

"What?"  Jean  drew  back,  and  her  face  grew 
serious  at  once. 

"  Of  course  you  knew  it  ?  " 


72  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  Not  a  word,"  she  said  rapidly.  "  I've  been  away 
all  day." 

"  Now  will  you  tell  where  you've  been?  "  he  asked 
half  tauntingly. 

"  More  than  ever.     Certainly,"  she  repeated  firmly. 

"  Well,  that's  something  gained,"  said  French,  fall- 
ing back,  unable  to  understand.  "  And  my  talk  really 
pleased  you  ?  " 

"  Yes."  For  a  moment  she  paused.  "  I  like  men 
to  do  things  well.  Even,"  Jean  added,  so  quaintly 
as  to  rob  the  speech  of  all  offense,  "  if  he's  doing 
something  very  wrong." 

And  with  that  she  vanished  into  the  darkness  and 
rain,  leaving  French  motionless  on  the  door-step, 
straining  his  vision  to  follow  her.  In  the  hall  the 
lamps  had  burned  so  low  as  to  smell  foully;  and  the 
pail  had  overflowed,  making  a  pool  of  water  in  the 
dust  of  the  floor. 

"How  could  I  have  hoped  for  this?"  cried  the 
young  man,  lifting  up  his  eyes.  Again  a  smile  trans- 
figured his  lean,  pinched  face.  "  Lord,"  he  half 
chanted,  "  now  lettest  Thou  Thy  servant  depart  in 
peace.  Jean  Wilder  at  a  meetin'  of  strikin'  mill- 
hands!  And  she  said  she  enjoyed  it." 

Along  the  street  the  congregation  discussed  the  in- 
cident excitedly. 

"She's  a  spy,"  cried  Mrs.  Garth.  "The  impu- 
dence of  her ! " 

"  But  she  was  near  cryin'  when  I  seen  her,"  her  com- 
panion insisted. 


A  CONVERSION  73 

"  'Twill  be  all  over  town  in  the  morning.  I'd  like 
to  see  old  Warden  get  the  news." 

"  Him  'n*  his  thousand  dollars ! "  snorted  Mrs. 
Garth.  "  Say,  didn't  none  of  you  see  nobody  peekin' 
in  at  the  window?  " 


VI 

ME.  WARDEN'S  HOMECOMING 

WHEN  at  length  French  came  out  again  into 
the  darkness  whither  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
earlier  he  had  followed  Jean,  he  could  hear 
still  the  voices  of  some  last  group  of  the  faithful  sing- 
ing up  the  street. 

"  When  the  roll-call's  counted, 
She'll  be  there." 

"  That  she  will,  please  God ! "  he  exclaimed  aloud. 
"Our  Jean!" 

"  I'd  like  to  hear  about  that,"  a  voice  made  answer 
from  the  black  night  and  the  rain.  "  That  was  what 
I'd  call  a  rousin*  meetin',  by  dee."  And  the  voice 
chuckled. 

"  .Whoever  you  are,"  French  cried  jubilantly,  as  he 
descended  the  steps  and  wrestled  with  his  umbrella, 
"  I'm  glad  you  heard  our  service.  I'm  glad  — " 

"  There,  there,  my  son.  I'm  glad  that  you're  glad ; 
but  don't  run  over  me.  And  never  shout  your  opin- 
ions out  loud.  There's  some  folks  in  this  sinful  world 
as  don't  care  a  dee  what  you  think,  or  how  you  feel." 
A  heavy,  strong  hand  caught  French  as  he  was  push- 
ing through  the  narrow  gate,  and  held  him  during 

74 


MR.  WARDEN'S  HOMECOMING         75 

this  speech.  "  And  now  walk  along  with  me,  so's  we 
can  talk  sensible.  Mebbe,"  the  voice  continued  shyly, 
"  I'm  li'ble  to  git  converted ;  and  I'm  for  the  down- 
trod  masses  every  time." 

The  speaker's  figure  was  burly  and  square,  though 
many  wrappings  and  coats  added  some  to  his  bulk, 
and  he  seemed  a  man  past  middle  life.  More  than 
that  French  could  not  distinguish,  on  account  of  the 
rain  and  the  thick  darkness  under  the  elms. 

"  My  name's  Bassett,  my  title's  Captain,  I'm  corn- 
in'  here  to  live,  mebbe.  I'm  a  friend  o'  the  poor  an* 
needy;  and  I  heard  you  carryin'  on  back  there,  so  I 
stopped  and  listened.  *  There's  a  man,'  says  I,  '  as 
puts  things  straight.'  It  was  like  beer  to  the  thirsty ; 
it  was  like  steak  and  onions  to  the  hungry  —  that 
there  speech  o'  yours,"  the  stranger  cried  in  a  mag- 
nificent burst  of  enthusiasm,  quite  ignoring  the  re- 
former's feeble  protests.  "  And  who,"  he  asked  cas- 
ually, on  the  heels  of  his  flattery,  "  was  the  young 
woman  as  came  in  late  ?  " 

"  Jean !  "  cried  French  to  the  sky,  his  spirits  flash- 
ing up  like  lightning.  "  Jean  Wilder  I " 

"  And  she  is  — ?  " 

"  You  don't  know  her?  "  It  seemed  incredible  that 
anybody  could  say  that.  "  You  don't  know  what  her 
coming  —  of  her  own  free  will,  mind  you  —  to  my  — 
our  meeting  means?  " 

"  I  told  you  I  was  new  to  this  town,"  replied  the 
other.  "  I'm  a  stranger  here,  by  dee,  in  a  strange 
land.  Also  a  sojourner,  as  all  my  fathers  were. 


76  THE  UPPER  HAND 

Which  seems  a  hard  name  to  call  the  old  folks,"  he 
added  in  an  undertone. 

At  that  moment  a  white  horse  splashed  by  them, 
drawing  a  closely  hooded  buggy. 

"  There  he  goes  now !  "  exclaimed  French  excitedly. 
"  That's  the  beginning  of  the  whole  story." 

"  And  who's  that,  if  it  ain't  a  secret?  " 

"  Jean's  guardian.  Uncle,  she  calls  him.  Old 
Warden." 

"  Hey  there !  "  bellowed  the  stranger  after  the  car- 
riage. "  Warden,  you  dog !  "  And  then  he  fell  into 
a  great  and  scandalous  laughter. 

"  That's  no  way  to  talk,"  French  remonstrated. 
He  began  to  feel  sorry  that  he  was  obliged  to  keep  the 
company  of  this  noisy  old  man. 

"  It  ain't  a  mark  to  the  way  I  can  talk,"  was  the 
calm  answer.  "  Once  I'm  good  'n'  cross.  Now  tell 
me  about  things.  I  want  to  hear  it  all." 

He  learned  that  great  things  had  happened  in 
Kingsford.  No  longer  was  one  man  the  master  of  the 
mill  and  the  rest  mere  slaves.  A  living  wage  and 
union  hours  were  to  be  given  to  the  workingman,  first 
in  the  mill,  later,  French  prophesied,  to  even  the  farm- 
hands. The  fight  was  on,  and  so  far  victory  lay  with 
the  party  of  freedom.  It  was  true  that  the  men's 
reasonable  demands  had  been  refused,  true  that  out- 
side labor  was  to  be  imported,  paid  for  by  Mr.  War- 
den. 

"  Warden's  a  fighter,"  French  explained,  putting 


MR.  WARDEN'S  HOMECOMING         77 

another    parenthesis    into    his    stammering,    jumbled 
story.     "  He  is  that,  sure  enough." 

Him  against  you.     I  see.     And  Jean — ?" 

"  She's  his  ward,  I  said." 

"  Ex-actly.  She's  his  ward,  and  oughter  stick  on 
the  money-power's  side,  but  tonight  she  comes  into 
your  camp." 

"  That's  the  victory ! "  French's  cry  was  like  a 
trumpet.  "  She  sat  there  for  half  an  hour,  and  lis- 
tened to  my  talk.  She  told  me  she  liked  it,  that  she 
didn't  understood  before  what  our  cause  was.  She 
said  she'd  come  again." 

"  Well,  well !  But  /  didn't  hear  her  say  no  such 
thing,"  commented  Bassett  under  his  breath. 

"  Brave,  true  girl !     That's  what  she  is." 

"  Right !  "  the  old  man  exclaimed  heartily.  "  And 
now  let's  talk  about  somethin'  else." 

It  was  impossible.  To  the  young  preacher  a  kind 
of  heaven,  vaguely  discerned,  but  felt  as  bright  and 
beautiful,  seemed  in  the  past  hour  to  have  opened. 
He  could  not  leave  the  subject. 

"  One'd  think  she  was  in  love  with  you,  to  hear  you 
go  on,"  remarked  the  stranger  in  a  moment's  pause 
in  French's  excited  talk.  "  I  guess  you  kinder  hope 
that  you  scored  a  hit  as  well's  the  cause  o'  Christ  and 
labor." 

"  You've  got  to  excuse  me,"  panted  French.  "  I 
get  swept  away  sometimes." 

"  Rubbish !  "  grunted  Bassett.  "  It  all  —  I  mean 
you  all  will  get  swept  away  sooner  or  later.  I  know 


78  THE  UPPER  HAND 

how  you  feel.  Pve  been  swept  away  myself.  Swept 
clean  away."  His  voice  changed  like  a  heavy,  cracked 
bell.  "  Only  I  came  back  again." 

"  That's  a  queer  thing  to  say." 

"  I'm  a  queer  man.  And  here  I'll  leave  you.  Go 
in  and  win,  young  Mr.  Striker.  Warden  ain't  a  party 
to  be  encouraged,  I  don't  believe." 

"You  agree  with  me  then?" 

"  I'm  glad  I  come  to  town  just  now,"  the  strange 
man  replied,  backing  away,  for  they  had  come  to 
French's  door.  Things  look  very  interestin'." 

All  the  way  down  Kingsford  street,  Mr.  Warden 
wondered  who  it  was  that  had  hailed  him  by  name 
from  the  side-walk  in  a  voice  like  a  fog  horn.  At  the 
moment  he  was  going  to  pull  up ;  but  then  he  told  him- 
self that,  whoever  it  was,  the  man  had  only  to  walk 
a  short  quarter  of  a  mile  to  catch  him  at  home,  if  the 
business  was  urgent;  so  he  slapped  the  mare  vigor- 
ously with  the  wet,  heavy  reins,  and  he  blundered  on 
through  the  mud.  It  had  been  a  good  day,  he  re- 
flected, in  spite  of  all  the  trouble  of  the  morning,  for 
he  had  sold  some  utterly  waste  land  for  nearly  five 
hundred  dollars  to  a  New  York  man  who  wanted  a 
site  for  a  summer  place. 

"  And  this  He  shall  never  lay  finger  on ! "  cried 
Mr.  Warden  aloud,  with  a  sudden  ring  of  hate  in  his 
thin  voice.  He  shifted  the  reins  to  his  right  hand  so 
as  to  feel  inside  his  coat.  There  lay  the  pocket-book 
warm  and  dry,  stiff  with  new  bank-notes.  The  broker 
had  paid  a  good  amount  down  to  bind  the  bargain. 


MR.  WARDEN'S  HOMECOMING         79 

"  Mine,  by  the  Lord ! "  swore  Mr.  Warden,  quite  out 
of  his  accepted  character  as  the  leading  citizen  of  a 
God-fearing  village.  "  Mine,  mine." 

But  a  moment  later,  when  he  was  in  the  barn,  he 
realized  that,  for  all  the  genuine  pleasure  the  after- 
noon had  brought,  he  had  to  reckon  with  the  un- 
doubted facts  that  the  driving  rain  had  soaked  him 
through,  and  because  Jake  too  had  apparently  struck 
—  the  fool !  —  he  must  spend  a  painful  half  hour  get- 
ting the  old  mare  dry  and  clean.  Even  the  warmth 
of  the  pocket-book  failed  entirely  to  cheer  him,  as  the 
old  man  set  his  shoulder  to  the  heavy  sliding  door  of 
the  carriage  room.  He  sighed  as  he  looked  around, 
and  saw  he  had  omitted  to  hang  up  the  harness  and 
spread  the  lap  robe  out  to  dry.  He  was  very  tired, 
and  eager  for  his  deep  chair. 

He  had  been  working  the  best  part  of  an  hour,  cold 
and  damp,  and  lamed  by  the  strange  work,  when  the 
door  that  led  from  the  barn  to  the  adjoining  lumber 
and  work-room,  and  thence  through  a  series  of  offices 
to  the  house,  was  pushed  open.  Mr.  Warden,  per- 
versely cross  by  now,  made  no  answer  to  the  voice 
which  called  to  him,  clear  and  mellow. 

"  Uncle  Andrew !  "  the  voice  persisted ;  and,  after  a 
pause,  added : — "  I  don't  believe  he's  here." 

"  Suppose  I  was  here,"  he  growled,  emerging  from 
the  dark  stall  into  the  light.  "  What  about  it  ?  " 

Jean  lowered  the  lamp,  which  she  was  holding  high 
in  the  doorway,  and  turned  away  with  that  queer  little 


80 

shrug  of  the  shoulders,  which  seemed  an  inheritance 
from  no  New  England  ancestor. 

"  Nothing  at  all,  unless  you  care.  It's  only  Mr. 
Bailey." 

"  Tell  him  I'll  be  right  in." 

But  she  hesitated.  Mr.  Warden  sighed  over  the 
heavy  hostler's  work;  he  coughed  once  or  twice,  as 
though  the  dampness  of  his  clothes  had  begun  to  chill 
him. 

"  Let  me  do  all  that,"  said  Jean  impulsively,  setting 
down  the  lamp.  "  I'd  love  to,  Uncle  Andrew." 

"  You  think  you  won't  forget  anything?  " 

"  Not  a  thing,"  she  laughed  back,  sweeping  the 
dirty  harness  from  his  hands,  strong  and  quick  as  a 
boy,  for  all  her  delicate  beauty.  "  You'll  never  know 
but  what  Jake  fixed  the  stable  up  himself.  But  I 
can't  do  it  justice  if  you  stand  and  watch  me.  Go 
away,  sir." 

The  grim  old  gentleman  relaxed  a  little  under  her 
infectious  gaiety.  And  he  was  vaguely  conscious  per- 
haps of  a  certain  pride  in  the  young  grace  and  supple 
strength,  just  now  so  prettily  devoted  to  his  service. 
For  a  moment  his  eyes  dwelt  on  her  as  they  had  that 
morning. 

"  Much  obliged,  Jean,"  he  said  walking  stiffly  to 
the  door.  "  I  am  pretty  tired  and  wet.  It's  been  a 
hard  day." 

"  Mr.  Bailey  will  revive  you.  Besides,  there's  a 
letter." 


MR.  WARDEN'S  HOMECOMING         81 

"  Who  from?  "  The  question  came  with  an  odd 
quickness. 

"  I  wish  I'd  opened  it  so  I  could  tell  you,"  Jean 
replied,  smiling.  "  I'll  do  it  next  time.  And  this 
looks  very  interesting." 

The  queer  look  that  flickered  across  the  old  gentle- 
man's face  was  gone  in  a  breathing  space. 

"  Uncle  Andrew !  "  cried  Jean,  as  if  in  a  little  alarm. 

"  A  letter ! "  He  recovered  himself  instantly. 
"  It's  probably  a  —  a  seed  catalogue." 

She  nodded  assent,  reassured  as  her  uncle  took  the 
lamp  up  and  opened  the  door.  Glancing  over  his 
shoulder,  Mr.  Warden  saw  that  the  effect  of  his  in- 
voluntary outcry  was  gone. 

"  Where  did  you  put  the  letter,  Jean  ?  " 

"  It's  propped  up  against  the  clock  in  the  living 
room." 

"  It  can't  be  of  any  importance,"  he  went  on  hast- 
ily, afraid  of  the  possible  questions  she  might  ask. 

"  I  begin  to  think  there's  some  awful  mystery  in 
that  seed  catalogue,"  Jean  laughed.  "  Remember 
that  I'll  cross-question  you  like  a  regular  lawyer  when 
I  come  in.  Unless,"  she  added  solemnly,  "  you  go 
instantly  to  the  house,  change  into  some  dry  clothes, 
and  pay  a  visit  to  the  top  shelf  of  the  medicine  cup- 
board, where  your  tonic  stands." 

He  made  off,  half  grumbling,  half  chuckling. 

"Remember!"  Jean  called  after  him.  "Three 
fingers  of  tonic  or  I'll  probe  after  secrets." 

With  the  girl's  light  laughter  in  his  ears,  Mr.  War- 


82  THE  UPPER  HAND 

den,  limping  through  the  range  of  dairy,  tool-room, 
and  summer  kitchen,  confessed  in  secret  that  rather 
than  have  Jean  ask  certain  questions,  he  would  drain 
the  brown  bottle  at  one  gulp,  for  all  that  he  was  a 
temperance  man.  He  reached  the  door  of  the  living- 
room  in  a  fine  flutter;  and  swore  again  that  nobody 
in  all  Kingsford  should  ever  call  at  the  post-office  for 
his  mail.  He  had  barely  time  to  compose  himself  a 
little  before  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  Mr. 
Bailey. 

The  latter  sought,  then  avoided  Mr.  Warden's  eye. 
"  I  hope  you've  got  some  good  news,"  he  said  point- 
edly. 

"  I  think  I've  got  some  men.  By  what  the  old 
Governor  used  to  call  Christian  guile.  It's  not  sure, 
though." 

"  I  hope  so.  Them  strikers  is  talkin'  mighty  stub- 
born." 

"  Well,"  rejoined  Mr.  Warden,  "  we'll  see." 

This  exchange  took  place  in  the  interval  of  Mr. 
Warden's  entrance  and  his  progress  across  the  room 
to  the  shelf  over  the  bricked-up  fireplace  behind  the 
stove.  But  Bailey  did  not  perceive  that  his  host  was 
talking  against  time.  From  all  he  could  judge,  Mr. 
Warden  spoke  about  these  important  matters  as  ear- 
nestly as  ever,  although  somebody  less  interested  could 
hardly  fail  noticing  that  the  Squire's  eyes  leaped  past 
Mr.  Bailey  to  the  mantelpiece  the  moment  he  had 
greeted  his  visitor,  and  that  all  the  time  he  was  talk- 
ing the  old  man  edged  nearer  and  nearer,  till  he  could 


MR.  WARDEN'S  HOMECOMING         83 

take  down  the  letter  that  was  propped  against  the 
clock. 

"  I  hope  the  good  weather  will  come  back,"  ob- 
served Mr.  Warden,  looking  up.  His  voice  shook ;  he 
kept  turning  his  letter  over  and  over  as  though  some 
secret  or  message  might  be  written  on  the  back  of  the 
envelope!  "It'll  be—" 

"  What'd  you  say  ?  "  asked  the  visitor,  after  wait- 
ing for  Mr.  Warden  to  finish. 

"  I  think  so  too,"  the  other  replied  slowly,  staring 
now  at  the  far  side  of  the  room,  heedless  alike  of  Mr. 
Bailey  and  of  his  own  damp  clothes  steaming  in  the 
warmth.  "  We've  got  to  stand  together  in  this  busi- 
ness." 

"  Wai,  we  always  look  to  Squire  Warden  to  do 
what's  right,"  Bailey  returned  heartily.  "  Must  be 
some  responsibility  bein'  Kingsford's  law  cmd  gospel, 
same's  as  you  be,  sir." 

"  Thanks,"  said  the  Squire  rather  grimly. 

As  Mr.  Warden  talked,  he  recovered  himself  com- 
pletely,—  his  eye  kindling,  his  jaw  shutting  hard. 
Mr.  Bailey  looked  at  him  with  something  like  rever- 
ence; but  at  the  same  time  found  himself  wondering 
at  his  leader's  sudden  abstraction  over  the  letter. 

"  He  was  mighty  keen  to  get  the  thing,  too," 
mused  the  good  farmer,  remembering  swiftly.  Then 
he  rose.  "  Musn't  keep  you  from  readin'  your  let- 
ter," he  added.  "  I  see  you  got  it  all  right.  Miss 
Jean  stuck  it  up  there  so's  you  couldn't  miss  it." 

"  Did  she?     Jean  put  it  there?  " 


84.  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  Yes,  sir.     Hope  it  is  not  bad  news." 

"  Nothing  important,"  the  Squire  said  blandly, 
again  studying  the  envelope.  "A  —  a  seed  cata- 
logue, or  some  broker's  advertisement  of  mining 
stock." 

"  Wrong  shape,"  returned  the  other,  boring 
through  the  envelope  with  his  little  eyes. 

"Think  so?"  And  Mr.  Warden,  though  his 
hand  trembled  excessively,  slit  the  wrapper  with  his 
knife. 

At  that  moment  Jean  broke  in  on  them,  coming  in 
like  a  stream  of  warm  light  or  a  fresh  breeze  from 
the  south. 

"  Uncle  Andrew,  you  didn't  obey  me ! "  The 
Squire  arrested  his  work,  and  glanced  down  at  his 
clothes.  "  I  told  him  to  change  his  things  under 
penalty." 

"  Ho,  ho !  Makes  ye  mind,  Squire,  does  she  ?  We 
were  talkin'  about  the  strike,"  Bailey  explained, 
with  the  instinctive  deference  of  his  race  for  a  woman 
whether  she  was  old  or,  like  Jean,  as  young  as  the 
spring,  "  but  your  uncle  had  to  get  his  letter  read." 

"The  mysterious  letter!"  she  cried.  "  It'll  be 
part  of  his  fine  to  read  it  out  loud.  Begin,  Uncle 
Andrew." 

"  Read  my  letter?  " 

Bailey  grinned  and  seconded  Jean's  commands. 
They  made  quite  a  joke  of  it,  and  pushed  harder 
when  Mr.  Warden  seemed  to  grow  a  little  angry. 

"  To  an  old  friend !  "  teased  the  farmer  noisily. 


MR.  WARDEN'S  HOMECOMING         85 

Mr.  Warden  flared  up.  "  It's  none  of  your  busi- 
ness, Bailey.  Now  that's  enough.  Understand? " 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  bother  you,  sir." 

"  It  was  nothing.  Mr.  Warden  shook  his  hand. 
"  Thankee  for  your  sympathy,"  he  said.  "  Good 
night." 

When  Jean  came  back  from  escorting  their  visitor 
to  the  front  door  —  for  so  much  comfort  seemed  due 
him  after  his  rebuff,  it  was  to  find  her  uncle  standing 
just  as  she  had  left  him.  He  looked  beaten  and  sick. 

"  There's  some  worry  ?  "  she  asked  gently.  "  Can 
I  help?  This  letter —?" 

"  What  of  it?  "  he  demanded. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  bother,"  Jean  replied  quietly, 
though  her  hands  clenched  as  they  hung  at  her  side. 

"  What  about  my  letters  ?  "  the  old  man  repeated, 
vaguely.  "  Don't  pry  so." 

She  sprang  back,  all  on  fire  in  a  second  at  his 
needless  suspicion.  "  I  wish  I'd  never  touched  or 
seen  your  mail ! "  cried  Jean  passionately. 

"  So  do  I.  Not  that  it  makes  any  difference,"  he 
added  lamely. 

"  You  are  so  unfair,  sir." 

"  I  please  myself.  Tell  me,"  he  ordered,  slowly 
crumpling  the  letter  in  his  fist,  "  what  you've  been 
doing  today." 

She  had  promised  herself  that  she  would  confess  at' 
once  that  she  had  gone  to  the  meeting  of  French's 
congregation  of  strikers.  There  had  been  a  kind  of 
taunt  in  the  young  man's  voice  as  he  took  leave  of  her 


86  THE  UPPER  HAND 

on  the  steps.  She  must  show  no  fear,  were  there  to 
be  any  consequences  of  her  escapade.  But  perhaps, 
Jean  thought,  as  she  reviewed  the  matter,  her  uncle 
would  laugh  grimly,  finding  some  amusement  in  what 
she  saw  now  was  sheer,  madcap  heedlessness.  She 
had  promised  to  tell  at  once ;  but  now  the  look  of  him 
daunted  her. 

"  I  went  over  to  the  Ledges  just  after  you'd  gone," 
she  began  uncertainly. 

"  Indeed !     Alone,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir."  Here  her  head  came  up.  "  But  I 
came  home  with  Mr.  Grey." 

"  That  artist?  " 

"  He  came  to  my  rescue,"  Jean  went  on  rapidly, 
for  her  uncle  was  using  the  tone  which  drove  her  to 
talk  more  recklessly  than  she  meant  to.  "  The  queer- 
est adventure!  I  was  coming  along  by  the  lower 
path,  for  I  didn't  want  to  go  by  the  — " 

"  The  old  house  ?     Yes,  yes.     I  understand." 

"  And  all  of  a  sudden  somebody  called  to  me  from 
the  underbrush.  It  wasn't  a  voice  I  knew,  so  I  was 
a  little  scared." 

"Some  tramp?" 

"  No,"  said  Jean,  "  it  sounded  like  an  old  man's  — 
rough  and  gentle  both.  And  he  called  me  by  name." 

A  quick  closing  of  Mr.  Warden's  fingers  crushed 
the  letter  into  a  shapeless  ball.  "  This  stranger 
called  you  by  name?  "  he  repeated  slowly,  and  with 
a  visible  effort  to  control  himself.  "  What  then  ?  " 

"  I  ran  like  a  deer,"  laughed  Jean,  seeing  the  quick- 


MR.  WARDEN'S  HOMECOMING        87 

est  way  out  of  the  examination.  "  And  then  Mr. 
Grey  saw  me,  and  escorted  me  home  like  a  troop  of 
cavalry." 

"  And  I  think  both  of  you  showed  uncommon  sense," 
Mr.  Warden  replied,  easily  enough,  though  he  sighed 
even  as  he  spoke,  "  You  to  run,  and  Grey  to  follow. 
You  say  that  you  didn't  know  the  voice  in  the 
bushes?  You've  never  heard  it?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"Never?" 

"  Mystery  again,"  cried  Jean.  "  Uncle,  you  love 
a  romance." 

"  I  do.  I'm  mighty  fond  of  romance.  It  makes 
first-class  —  reading."  He  waited  a  moment,  then 
asked  again  with  an  air  of  resolve  to  hear  the  worst: 
"  You've  done  nothing  else  ?  Where  have  you  been 
this  evening? "  And  he  pointed  to  her  skirt,  the 
edge  of  which  was  still  dark  with  wet. 

It  had  come  at  last.  But  she  met  the  question 
more  easily  than  she  had  expected,  her  courage  hav- 
ing risen  under  her  uncle's  questioning. 

"  I  went  to  hear  Sebastian  French,"  said  Jean 
calmly. 

"  You  what?  " 

She  repeated  the  words  exactly,  but  with  a  trace 
of  defiance,  which  leaped  out  like  sword  from  sheath 
to  meet  the  old  man's  querulous  anger. 

He  nodded  his  head  a  moment.  "  You  are  aware 
of  my  —  of  our  position  ?  You  know  that  I'm  going 
to  fight  this  strike?" 


88  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  But  it  did  no  harm,  Uncle.  And  I  didn't  know 
they'd  struck." 

"  Harm!  Are  you  blind,  child?  I  can  hear  those 
fools  rejoicing  over  their  new  convert." 

"  It  was  careless,"  she  murmured,  for  the  thought 
of  herself  as  the  talking-stock  of  French  and  his 
crew  hurt. 

"  Jean  Wilder  at  the  feet  of  a  foolish  anarchist ! 
Jean  Wilder  so  much  as  looking  at  the  fellow  that 
every  gentleman  in  Kingsford  is  going  to  fight  tooth 
and  nail ! " 

"  I  only  went  for  the  fun  of  it,"  she  protested 
miserably. 

"  And  you  laughed  at  the  beggar?  "  cried  the  old 
man  hopefully.  "  That'd  be  rude;  but—" 

"  No,"  she  replied  steadily,  facing  him  again.  "  I 
stayed  till  the  end.  It  was  splendid.  And  the  poor 
people  were  so  pathetic." 

"Bah!" 

"  It  was  the  best  sermon  I  ever  heard." 

"  I  suppose,"  Mr.  Warden  said,  picking  his  words, 
"  that  you  found  the  preacher  handsome,  too.  I 
daresay  you'll  be  telling  me  that  you  want  to  marry 
him  next." 

Jean  turned  from  him  deliberately. 

"Stand  still!"  cried  the  Squire.  "Let  me  tell 
you  again,  young  lady,  that  there  are  certain  things 
you  cannot  do." 

"  Too  many ! "  Her  color  was  high,  she  stood 
straight  as  a  column.  "  You'd  like  to  prison  me." 


MR.  WARDEN'S  HOMECOMING         89 

"  I'd  like  to  very  much.  Four  stone  and  steel 
walls  would  keep  you  from  gadding,  at  any  rate. 
There'd  be  no  more  meeting  strangers  on  the  Ledges, 
or  the  enemy  of  your  best  friends  in  a  den  of  an- 
archy." 

She  drew  toward  the  door.     "  May  I  go  now?  " 

"  The  sooner  the  better." 

He  watched  her  as  she  went  away  —  head  high,  a 
grim  little  smile  stiffening  her  tender  lips.  Then,  left 
by  himself,  Mr.  Warden  smoothed  out  his  crumpled 
letter.  It  was  one  line  long,  written  on  the  cheap 
blue  lined  paper  of  the  third  rate  hotel  across  the 
ferry,  in  a  hand  which  anyone  could  see  was  elabo- 
rately disguised.  There  was  no  signature,  nothing  to 
show  who  the  Squire's  correspondent  might  be.  But 
as  Mr.  Warden  read  the  scrawled  line,  his  face  hard- 
ened to  stone.  He  looked  toward  the  open  door, 
listened,  then  carefully  tucked  both  letter  and  envel- 
ope into  the  stove  where  the  blaze  was  fiercest. 

"Again!"  he  sighed.  "Why  did  he  have  to 
choose  this  special  time?  " 


VII 

CONVEESATIONS 

IT  was  not  a  very  respectable  apparition  that 
showed  itself  on  Kingsford  street  the  morning 
after  Jean's  day  of  adventures.  At  least  its 
outward  seeming  was  very  different  from  what  was 
familiar  to  the  greater  part  of  the  village.  Captain 
Bassett,  as  he  proclaimed  himself,  was  neatly  dressed 
in  blue,  with  a  black  string  tie;  his  hands  seemed  to 
be  resting  after  a  life  of  work  —  white,  but  knobby, 
and  thick  and  broad  in  the  palm.  He  was  bowed 
some  with  rheumatism,  and  carried  a  heavy  walking- 
stick.  All  this  was  well  enough,  could  one  forget 
the  wicked  nose  —  red,  swollen,  happy,  and  the  husky 
voice  turned  partly  by  salt  air  and  fog,  partly  by 
gin,  of  which  the  old  fellow  smelt  consumedly.  There 
was  too  a  curious  giggling  note  in  his  laughter  that 
sounded  cruel.  It  was  the  laughter  of  the  school- 
boy or  the  savage ;  and  this  was  both  captivating  and 
unpleasant. 

Quite  early  in  the  day  he  appeared,  stumping  up 
the  street  from  the  direction  of  the  station;  and,  ar- 
rived at  the  post-office,  he  asked  the  direction  of 
French's  house,  just  as  though  he  had  not  walked 
thither  the  night  before. 

90 


CONVERSATIONS  91 

u  A  day  of  joy  for  the  cause  o'  labor,"  he  said  to 
the  postmaster,  who  asked  questions.  "  Cap'n  B. 
has  come  to  take  observations.  A  day  of  holy  calm 
—  jest  that  'n  no  more,  by  dee." 

And  without  another  word  he  made  off  down  the 
lane. 

"  What  is  it  you  wanted  ?  "  asked  French,  as  he 
opened  the  door  to  him. 

"  The  joy  of  talkin'  with  you,"  replied  the  Cap- 
tain beamingly,  quite  ignoring  the  dark  look  on 
French's  face.  "  A  man  in  a  thousand ! "  Then  he 
turned  his  smoked  glasses  on  Jessie,  who  had  ap- 
peared the  moment  she  heard  the  talking.  "  Don't 
you  think  so,  my  dear?  Ain't  French  a  daisy?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  she  faltered. 

"  Humph !  "  The  Captain  studied  her.  "  Is  the 
young  lady  strong  on  the  rights  of  labor?  " 

Jessie  nodded,  but  looked  at  French. 

"  Great  hand  at  preachin',  ain't  he ! " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  the  girl  answered. 

"  Make  ye  believe  most  anything.  I  heard  him. 
There,  says  I,  is  a  born  leader.  Also  good  lookin'." 

"You'll  make  me  very  conceited,"  the  preacher 
laughed,  shaking  back  his  hair. 

"  7  guess  not.  There's  no  making  you  con- 
ceited." The  old  fellow's  tone  conveyed  no  hint  of 
double  meaning.  "  You  are  what  you  are,  my  boy." 

"  My  cosmos  is  chaos,  according  to  Mr.  Grey." 

"  That's  a  name  I'd  take  from  nobody." 


92  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  He  was  just  horrid,"  Jessie  broke  in.  "  Ain't 
you  goin'  to  come  an'  sit  down?  " 

"  Not  me,"  grinned  the  Captain.  "  I  somehow 
guess  I  ain't  needed  —  not  here." 

French's  mouth  tightened.  "  Sure  you  are 
Jessie  — ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  care."     She  laughed  mirthlessly. 

"Thankee,"  said  Bassett  quickly.  "I'd  like  to 
stay  first-rate.  I  want,"  he  added,  with  a  roll  in  his 
words  like  an  orator,  "  k>  get  in  touch  with  all  the  — 
the  factors  of  the  labor  problem." 

In  the  ragged  grape-arbor,  whither  they  repaired, 
French  began  to  discourse.  There  was  no  need  to 
despair,  he  said,  even  if  Mr.  Warden  had  put  up  so 
bold  a  front. 

"Why  not?"  Bassett  asked. 

French  smiled  and  looked  away  from  Jessie's  burn- 
ing eyes.  His  dark  brow  had  cleared-  "  I  had  a 
vision  last  night.  I  know  that  things'll  turn  out  all 
right." 

Jessie  gave  a  little  sigh. 

"  It  is  Jean,"  said  the  preacher,  "  that'll  fix  up  the 
differences  between  us." 

The  girl  stiffened  in  every  fibre  of  her  body. 

"  No ! "  cried  the  Captain  sharply,  slapping  his 
hand  on  the  seat.  "  Jean  won't  have  nothin'  to  do 
with  you." 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes !  "  cried  French.  "  I  feel  it.  She's 
good,  she  is ;  she  ain't  cruel  like  the  old  man ;  she 
remembers  the  poor  folks.  She —  Shall  I  tell  you 


CONVERSATIONS  93 

what  I  dreamed  last  night?  "  He  was  on  his  feet 
now,  looking  down  on  his  listeners. 

"  Well?  "     The  Captain  was  watching  him  close. 

"  I  dreamed  that  Jean  Wilder  raised  me  up,  when 
I  went  to  her  on  my  knees.  I  dreamed  that  she  kissed 
me—" 

An  oath  tore  itself  loose  from  Jessie's  lips,  and 
some  sobbing  abuse. 

"  She's  taken  you  away !  "  the  girl  sobbed.  "  And 
—  and  I  done  all  I  could  to  please  you,  Sebastian." 

She  left  them  in  a  moment,  and  her  shoulders 
shook  with  the  savagery  of  her  grief. 

"  Jealous  like  'em  all ! "  was  the  Captain's  com- 
ment. "  You  ain't  very  experienced,  my  son. 
What'd  she  mean  by  that  last?  " 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  French  replied  promptly. 
"  She  oughter  use  her  sense." 

"  How  about  that  vision  ?  "  was  the  old>  fellow's 
next  question. 

"  It  will  come  true.     Jean  and  I  — " 

"  You  don't  say  so ! "  For  a  moment  he  paused. 
"  Jean  and  you !  The  idea  wouldn't  please  some 
folks,  I  guess." 

"  That  man  Warden'll  have  to  learn  more  than  one 
lesson,"  the  dreamer  replied  sombrely.  "  Nobody 
can  stand  against  what's  right  forever." 

"  He  must  be  awakened !  "  How  had  he  been  able 
to  catch  French's  tone?  "  He  must  hear  reason. 
And  perhaps  he  will,"  said  Bassett,  sinking  his  voice 
tragically,  before  he  broke  off  to  laugh.  It  was  the 


94  THE  UPPER  HAND 

same  mischievous  giggle  that  had  annoyed  the  peo- 
ple uptown  a  half  hour  earlier."  I  wonder  when 
he'll  meet  the  new  men  they  say  he's  goin'  to  hire. 
It'd  be  interesting  to  find  that  out.  Fun  to  watch 
him,  eh?  " 

"  God  forbid  that  he  should  do  it  at  all,"  returned 
French.  "  But,"  he  added,  smiling,  "  he's  goin'  to 
give  in." 

"  Ah!     One  o'  them  visions  again?  " 

"  I  dreamed  that  Jean  said  she  loved  me,"  French 
repeated  almost  in  a  whisper. 

"  Goin'  to  convert  her  too,  be  ye  ?  I  tell  ye,  old 
Brigham  Young  was  a  teetotaller  beside  you,  son. 
Here's  this  Jessie  girl,  and  yonder's  the  young  lady ; 
and  say,  how  many  more  — ?  " 

The  old  fellow  was  shut  off  with  an  angry  gesture. 
"  This  ain't  a  joke,  my  friend." 

"  That's  just  what  worries  me.  You're  so  cussed 
serious,  my  son.  Say,  you  don't  really  mean  that 
the  young  lady's  goin'  on  a  strike  too." 

"  Dreams  come  true  now  'n'  then,"  the  striker  de- 
clared, his  face  lighting  up  again. 

"  But  this'd  be  a  nightmare.  There's  this  Jessie 
girl,"  the  pirate  repeated.  "  A  nightmare,  by  dee. 
I  tell  you  that,  after  seem'  her  for  three  minutes." 

"  Much  obliged  for  your  advice,  Cap'n."  The 
young  man  got  up  from  the  arbor  seat. 

"  Which  was  shoved  on  you  most  offensive,  says 
you.  And  off  I  go,"  he  concluded,  without  a  trace 
of  embarrassment,  "  immediate,  Stoppin'  just  long 


CONVERSATIONS  95 

enough  to  press  the  hand  of  an  honest  toiler  in  the 
Cause.  Or  the  rights  o'  labor.  I  always  get  them 
things  mixed.  Likewise  we  must  certainly  get  ac- 
quainted with  Squire  Warden." 

"  Don't  see  why,"  French  answered,  completely 
mystified. 

"  I  know  he  ain't  much  —  after  you,"  the  old  fel- 
low admitted.  "  But  it's  jest  possible  I  might  find 
out  a  thing  or  two  for  the  side  of  honest  labor."  He 
broke  off  suddenly  and  got  nimbly  to  his  feet,  as  he 
saw  French  start  up  quickly.  The  sound  of  voices 
came  to  them.  "  What's  that?  " 

French's  fine  eyes  glowed.  "  Listen !  "  he  orderedf 
gently.  "Hear  her?  She's  come  here  —  to  me.  I 
knew  she  would.  Hear  her  voice?  Come  and  speak 
to  her." 

The  Captain  nodded.  "  Go  ahead,"  he  replied 
slowly.  "You're  sure  it's  Jean?" 

"  Think  I  could  make  a  mistake  there?  "  the  young 
man  laughed;  and  hurried  out  of  the  arbor  and  up 
the  path.  For  part  of  the  way  his  visitor  followed 
him;  but  when  they  had  come  nearly  round  to  the 
front  of  the  house,  the  Captain  slackened  his  gait 
and  stopped. 

"  Go  on,"  he  whispered.  "  I'll  join  you  in  a  min- 
ute." 

But  no  sooner  had  French  turned  the  corner  than 
the  old  man  wheeled  about,  and,  running  clumsily 
down  to  the  back  of  the  weedy  garden,  vanished  be- 


96  THE  UPPER  HAND 

hind  the  high-standing  corn.  Nor  did  he  come  out 
into  the  lane  till  he  was  a  hundred  yards  away. 

When  Jean  had  proposed  her  little  errand  of 
charity  to  her  uncle  after  breakfast  she  had  hardly 
expected  him  to  give  her  leave,  after  the  scene  of  the 
night  before.  But  he  had  made  no  objection  to  her 
visiting  poor  Mrs.  Bannard  and  trying  to  help  Jes- 
sie, who  had  been  so  idle.  That  she  would  probably 
encounter  French  did  not  occur  to  either  of  them  as 
especially  important. 

She  found  Jessie  was  languidly  going  through  the 
motions  of  doing  some  washing  on  the  bench  under 
the  big  maple  tree ;  and  the  girl  seemed  tired,  though 
not  surely  by  much  exercise  at  the  scrubbing-board 
and  wringer.  Her  "  Good-morning "  was  hardly 
audible. 

"I  wanted  you  for  some  work  at  the  house,"  Jean 
said,  after  a  bit  of  preamble.  "  Do  you  think  you 
could  come,  Jessie  ?  " 

"Is  it  for  you?" 

"  Partly."  The  young  lady's  eyebrows  went  up, 
for  she  was  not  used  to  parleying  with  those  paid  to 
work  for  her.  "  Some  of  the  linen  needs  mending, 
and  I  remember  how  beautifully  you  did  it,  when  I 
engaged  you  before." 

The  girl  was  hesitating  over  some  reply  when  Jean 
glanced  up,  to  meet  a  look  of  beaming  happiness  and 
surprise  from  French.  He  came  forward  with  ex- 
tended hands. 

"  This  is  a  pleasure ! "     The  right  he  thrust  at 


CONVERSATIONS  97 

Jean,  who  nodded  a,  greeting,  and  the  left  he  let 
Jessie  take,  who  dropped  it  instantly  when  she  saw 
the  way  Jean  met  him.  "  To  think  of  finding  you 
here!" 

"  Why  not? "  asked  Jean,  searching  his  sallow 
face. 

"It's  a  flag  of  truce?"  cried  French  joyously. 
"  And  I  hope  the  message  from  our  friend  the  ene- 
my's, a  peaceful  one  ?  " 

"  I  had  some  business  with  Jessie.  And  she  was 
just  going  to  answer  me  when  you  came."  She  could 
not  bear  the  man's  presence  now,  by  daylight,  when 
the  fiery  orator  of  the  little  dingy  meeting  was 
changed  to  a  person  with  greasy  manners  and  a 
wheedling  smile.  She  sought  the  girl,  who  had  gone 
back  to  her  pretence  of  work,  and  was  rinsing  some 
piece  of  clothing,  her  cheeks  aflame  and  her  head 
drooping.  "  Jessie !  " 

No  answer.  "  Miss  Warden  spoke  to  you,"  ob- 
served French. 

The  child  looked  up  then.  "  I  can't  come,"  she 
replied  dully.  Her  eyes,  now  sombre  that  by  nature 
were  so  sunny,  clung  to  French. 

"  So  generous  in  you  to  offer  it ! "  he  remarked. 
"  I'm  sure  Jessie'll  go." 

"  You  want  me  to  ?  "  she  cried  sharply. 

"  I'd  be  glad  if  you  or  anybody  else  did  Miss 
Wilder  a  favor." 

"  It's  to  please  Tier  then  that  you  want  me  to  go?  " 
she  repeated. 


98  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  I'd  do  anything  for  Miss  Wilder,  after  last 
night." 

"  She  doesn't  want  to  come  because  of  the  strike?  " 
Jean  asked  confusedly. 

French's  smile  broadened.     "  Possibly." 

"  There's  no  other  reason?  " 

"  Any  other  is  too  foolish  to  even  speak  of." 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  demanded  imperiously. 

"  I  wanted  to  show  her  its  foolishness.  Please 
don't  ask  me." 

She  caught  the  meaning  of  the  man's  half  compla- 
cent, half  apologetic  air,  and  sickened  with  anger 
and  disgust. 

"  Jessie !  "  she  said  swiftly. 

"  Yes'm  ?  "  came  the  whimpering  reply. 

"  Come  to  me  at  nine  tomorrow  morning.  And  — 
and  I  won't  have  you  speak  my  name  in  Mr.  French's 
presence,"  she  added,  too  angry  to  give  much  direc- 
tion to  her  words. 

"  It's  him  as  does  the  talkin',  Miss  Jean.  All  the 
morning  it's  been  you  this  and  you  that.  And — " 
The  sobbing  choked  off  the  rest  of  the  miserable  little 
speech. 

French  followed  Jean  to  the  gate,  full  of  protest 
and  supplication.  "  Jessie's  so  jealous,"  he  com- 
plained. 

"Of  what,  please?"  she  demanded  imperiously. 

"  Well,  you  can't  blame  me  for  feeling  happy,  af- 
ter what  you  said  and  did  last  night,  can  you?"  he 


CONVERSATIONS  99 

went  on,  feeling  that  he  was  being  badly  treated. 

"  I'm  sorry  I  came.     Very." 

"  You  praised  me,  you  praised  my  - —  our  cause," 
the  man  cried.  "  You  talked  with  me  alone  right  be- 
fore all  of  'em.  If  you  meant  nothing,  you  shouldn't 
have  said  nothing.  But  you  can't  fool  me."  As  on 
the  night  before,  he  stood  between  her  and  the  gate. 
"  I  read  into  people's  souls,  Jean  Wilder." 

"  Really  ?  I  thought  you  tried  to  save  them." 
She  laid  her  hand  on  the  gate;  without  a  word  he 
opened  it  for  her  and  stood  aside.  His  sudden, 
clumsy  civility  made  her  a  little  ashamed  of  her  rude- 
ness. "  Forgive  me,"  she  said,  "  for  saying  that." 

"  It's  true  enough,"  French  answered.  "  You 
know  what  I'm  going  to  do  before  I'm  through,  don't 
you?" 

Jean  retreated  a  little,  troubled  now  by  the  look 
in  his  eyes,  which  was  half  entreating,  half  threaten- 
ing. 

"  Anyway,"  she  said,  "  I  think  you're  sincere." 

"Then  you  believe  in  me?"  He  followed  at  her 
side.  "  But  I  know  you  do.  God  sent  me  a  dream 
last  night.  He  showed  me  you  were  on  our  side;  he 
told  me  we'd  win,  and  that  Jean  Wilder'd  help  us. 
You  can  say  all  you  like,"  he  cried,  as  Jean  exclaimed 
aloud ;  "  but  you  can't  take  that  vision  away  from 
me.  You  can't  go  against  God.  You've  got  to  obey. 
He  led  you  to  our  meeting  last  night.  He  sent  you 
here  this  morning.  We  — " 

The  two  had  come  by  now  to  the  corner  of  the 


100  THE  UPPER  HAND 

lane.  A  hundred  yards  away  was  the  post-office  and 
Jean  could  see  the  usual  crowd  gathered  for  the 
morning  mail.  A  moment  more,  and  all  Kingsford 
would  see  her  walking  with  the  leader  of  the  strike. 
Her  uncle's  remarks  of  the  evening  before  came  back 
to  her.  She  glanced  around  in  desperation,  and 
caught  right  of  a  broad-shouldered,  erect  figure  com- 
ing down  the  street  from  the  upper  end  of  town. 

"  We're  in  God's  hands !  "  French  was  crying,  but 
Jean  did  not  answer. 

"  Don't  tell  me  that  Kingsford  won't  think  you're 
on  my  side,"  the  man  went  on  rapturously.  "  Seein' 
us  come  along  together  after  last  night  —  why,  God 
has  jest  made  things  come  right." 

"  Mr.  Grey ! "  Jean  hardly  knew  her  own  voice  as 
she  called. 

The  painter  hurried  up  to  where  she  was  standing, 
and  wondered  what  had  given  her  beautiful  eyes  their 
frightened,  troubled  look. 

"  Will  you  —  would  you  mind  walking  along  with 
me  a  little  way  ?  "  she  asked  quickly.  Then  a  little 
laugh  escaped  her.  "  I'm  like  the  distressed  damsel 
in  the  story-books  again." 

Grey  looked  from  her  to  French. 

"  Are  you  bothering  Miss  Jean?  " 

"  No." 

"  No,  indeed,"  Jean  echoed  quickly.  "  Only  —  I 
want  to  speak  to  Mr.  Grey,"  she  said  to  French,  as 
gently  as  she  could.  "  Good-morning." 

French  laughed  sombrely.     "  All  right.     Only  re- 


CONVERSATIONS  101 

member,"  he  added,  "  that  you'd  better  join  the  win- 
ning side  when  you're  called.  Lest  haply  you  be 
found  to  fight  against  God.  And  the  same  to  you* 
Grey.  You  gave  in  to  me  yesterday;  now  don't  do 
nothing  foolish  today." 

"  Shall  we  go?  "  Jean  asked,  moving  away  a  step 
or  two. 

"  See  you  later,"  Grey  said  to  the  other  man. 

"  Any  time  you  say,"  was  the  answer.  "  Maybe 
you'd  like  to  talk  to  me  down  to  the  post-office." 
And  with  that  he  went  down  the  street. 

The  exchange  was  so  quick  and  so  low  that  Jean 
did  not  hear  it.  Or  at  least  so  Grey  had  to  believe, 
for  she  showed  no  sign  of  any  feeling  but  sheer  em- 
barrassment at  the  situation  she  had  invoked. 

"  I  hated  to  have  to  walk  with  him,"  she  explained. 
"  After  last  night." 

"  How  was  that?  " 

"  I'm  glad  there's  one  person  who  hasn't  heard  of 
my  —  disgrace,"  she  laughed,  glancing  up  at  him  and 
then  away.  And  she  related  with  spirit  her  adventure 
at  the  meeting.  "  Between  my  dear  uncle  and  Mas- 
ter French  I  never  expect  to  hear  the  last  of  it." 

"  /  can't  help  being  glad  about  it,"  Grey  succeeded 
in  saying.  "  It's  not  often  that  I  have  a  chance  to 
talk  with  you  like  this." 

"And  the  fault  is  —  whose?"  she  asked  lightly. 
"  But  at  least  you're  always  on  hand  when  I  seem  to 
need  help.  Thanks  for  another  rescue,  Mr.  Grey." 

"  But  where  are  you  going  now?  " 


102  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  On  a  dozen  errands !  Uptown,"  she  explained 
vaguely  enough.  "  Good-bye." 

And  before  Grey  could  get  out  the  first  of  the  ques- 
tions he  wanted  to  ask  she  had  gone.  But  he  watched 
her  exquisite  figure  and  strong,  light  step  till  Jean 
was  reduced  to  a  mere  point  of  color  in  the  distance. 

He  passed  the  post-office  with  only  a  half  conscious- 
ness that  French  was  here,  in  eager  talk  with  a  little 
knot  of  shabby  men  who  looked  after  him  with  a  sneer 
and  a  taunt  of  some  sort.  He  would  be  very  foolish, 
he  thought,  to  follow  up  any  quarrel  with  that  crowd. 
Ten  steps  further  he  was  wishing  that  Jean  might 
have  no  part  in  a  squabble  over  mill-hands'  wages. 
He  ran  through  his  scene  with  her,  then  through  their 
odd  meeting  of  the  day  before.  He  thought  of  the 
way  he  had  left  her  for  his  work,  and  —  here  he  sur- 
prised himself  —  acknowledged  that  he  had  been  very 
uncivil  to  her.  He  would  have  to  make  amends. 

"  I  wouldn't  care  if  it  hadn't  been  Jean,"  said 
Grey  to  himself  in  conclusion,  when  a  touch  on  his 
arm  startled  him  from  his  reverie. 

"  What  do  yvu,  want?  " 

"  Now,"  said  the  other,  "  don't  get  mad  at  me.  I 
jest  wanted  to  tell  you,  if  you  don't  mind,  that  you're 
wuth  the  hull  town  biled  down.  You're  all  right." 

Grey  grinned.  "  You  don't  belong  in  Kingsford, 
then?" 

"Belong?  No."  He  spat  fiercely.  "Adopted? 
Maybe.  That's  as  might  happen." 

They  came  during  this  interchange  of  courtesies, 


CONVERSATIONS  103 

by  the  little  office,  a  detached  wooden  building,  to 
which  Mr.  Warden  resorted  for  the  transaction  of  bits 
of  business.  It  was  quite  the  same  as  his  father  had 
left  it,  the  hard  old  sire,  lawyer  and  landlord. 

"  *  Amos  Warden,' "  he  said,  stopping  short  to 
read  the  signboard.  "  '  Andrew  Warden,  Successor.' 
That  last  looks  pretty  fresh  'n'  gay.  A  prosperous 
man,  surely.  Let's  sit  under  the  eaves  of  the  rich." 

So  saying,  he  took  the  artist  by  the  arm,  and  with 
him  mounted  the  top  of  the  steps,  where  without  fur- 
ther prelude  they  sat  down.  Grey  was  already  ready 
at  idle  times  like  this  hour  to  seek  adventure,  or  at 
least  experience;  and  here  was  a  personage,  he 
guessed,  worth  knowing.  He  yearned  to  the  old  fel- 
low also  with  a  queer  sense  of  comradeship. 

"  Touchin'  upon  Kingsford  now,"  the  old  fellow 
began.  "  Would  you  call  it  a  likely  town?  Meanin' 
as  one  could  live  here?  " 

"  It's  a  no-license  place,"  the  painter  replied,  with 
a  laugh. 

"  That's  a  pity.  But  there's  the  Eagle  Hotel  just 
across  the  ferry.  So  a  man  could,  if  he  wanted  any- 
thing. Eh?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  Most  everybody  does,  too.  Yes,  I 
guess  it's  a  good  enough  place,  if  you  can  get  along 
with  the  people.  I  can't,  confound  'em." 

"  Just  the  word,  but  far  too  feeble.  I  was  ashamed 
of  the  way  Mr.  French  spoke  of  you  just  now.  I 
was  just  goin'  to  speak  up  for  you  —  though  I  never 


104.  THE  UPPER  HAND 

seen  you  before  when  you  got  past.  But  I  move 
pretty  slow  since  Gettysburg." 

"  Soldier?  " 

"  And  sailor.  I  guess  there  ain't  much  of  the 
world  I  ain't  seen.  I  was  married  to  a  Kanaka  till 
she  died,  then  to  a  Greaser  woman.  Only  she  didn't 
count,  being  wishful  to  knife  me.  Then  to  the  last. 
And  she's  dead,  too,  a  whole  lot  of  years  ago.  And 
I  thought  I'd  come  to  Kingsford,"  he  concluded 
lamely. 

"  Got  any  friends  here?  " 

The  soldier-sailor  spat  again.  "  Not  a  dee  one, 
'cept  the  Cap'n  of  the  strikers.  I  seen  him  at  the 
meetin',  after  they'd  struck." 

"  Stranger  to  it  all,  eh?  You'd  better  turn  artist. 
We  painters  don't  rightly  belong  to  Kingsford, 
though  we  do  live  here." 

"  That  ain't  a  bad  idea."  The  man  grinned  hor- 
ribly, but  his  attention  was  quickly  diverted.  He 
nudged  Grey  and  pointed.  "  Who's  that  girl?  " 

The  painter  drew  down  his  brows.  It  seemed  un- 
desirable that  this  relict  of  many  wives  should  have 
named  her  that  passed  them  like  a  piece  of  the  sun- 
light, like  the  breath  of  a  rose-garden.  So  when  he 
repeated  his  question,  squinting  across  the  broad  street 
after  the  girl,  Grey  quietly  told  a  lie. 

"  Not  know  her?  "  the  old  fellow  chuckled.  "  All 
right.  I  only  wanted  to  make  sure  of  my  eyes.  At 
a  guess,  I  sh'd  say  that  was  Miss  Jean  Wilder." 


CONVERSATIONS  105 

Grey  turned  on  him.  "  I  thought  you  said  you 
didn't  know  anybody  here." 

"  They  told  me  her  name  in  the  crowd  just  a  min- 
nute  ago,"  the  other  answered  quietly.  "  So  you 
don't  know  her?  " 

"  No."     Grey  felt  a  little  foolish. 

"  Perhaps  then  I  kin  make  you  acquainted  some 
day.  But  I'd  'a*  thought  she'd  speak  to  you  there 
when  you  was  standin'  next  her  yonder,  Mr.  Grey." 

The  artist  laughed.     "  My  name,  too?  " 

"  If  you  want  to  hide  it,  don't  print  it  on  the  band 
inside  the  hat  you're  holdin'  in  your  hand.  Readin's 
easy  for  me  in  spite  of  my  many  infirmities." 

"  You  owe  me  yours,  now." 

"  My  name,"  said  the  pirate  slowly,  as  if  by  an 
effort  of  memory,  "  is  Captain  Leonidas  J.  Bassett. 
I  have  plenty  of  money,"  he  showed  a  roll  with  an 
elastic  band  round  it  — "  and  I  come  from  distant 
lands." 

"  I'm  very  glad  to  meet  you,  Captain."  Grey  saw 
many  happy  hours  of  talk  with  this  sea-monster 
ahead.  He  must  not  lose  him.  "  And  here's  just  the 
man  you  need  to  know  if  you  want  to  find  out  about 
Kingsford.  He's  cross,  but  don't  you  care." 

"  I'm  as  good  as  him,"  the  Captain  replied  confi- 
dently. "  I  don't  care." 

Grey  was  watching  Mr.  Warden,  who  took  leave 
of  Colonel  Gregory  and  came  across  the  street  with 
his  morning  mail  in  his  hand.  Perhaps  only  Grey,  or 
one  of  his  tribe,  would  have  noticed  that  the  Squire's 


106  THE  UPPER  HAND 

air  of  composure  seemed  forced  a  bit  beyond  his  usual 
manner.  But  he  surely  looked  the  New  England 
gentleman,  the  more  perhaps  for  the  presence  of 
dingy  old  Bassett. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Grey,"  he  said,  when  the 
painter  had  scrambled  to  his  feet,  but  not  till  then. 
For  the  pirate  he  had  not  so  much  as  a  look.  He 
fumbled  with  his  keys.  "  How  are  all  our  friends 
up  in  your  artists'  quarter?  " 

"  This  is  a  friend  of  mine,"  he  said  whimsically, 
indicating  his  companion. 

"  Of  yours,  Grey  ? "  Mr.  Warden's  tone  lost  its 
airiness.  "  That  man  is  a  friend  of  yours?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.     Captain  Bassett." 

"  Leonidas  J.,"  the  old  ruffian  announced  with  a 
giggle,  and  sat  quite  at  his  ease.  "  At  your  service, 
Mr.  Warden.  I've  come  to  Kingsford  to  live.  I'm 
a  teetotal  stranger,  for  out  of  all  that  handsome 
crowd  of  your  acquaintances  at  the  post-office  that  I 
mingled  with  so  gaily  just  now  there  wasn't  a  one  that 
could  set  a  name  to  me.  Funny,  wasn't  it !  " 

"You're  coming  here  to  live?"  Mr.  Warden  re- 
peated slowly. 

"  To  live.  Captain  Bassett,  the  new  citizen.  Per- 
haps you'll  give  me  some  p'ints  as  to  conduct  and  be- 
haviour. I  need  'em,  for  I  ain't  over  respectable. 
And  you're,  I  guess,  the  virtuousest  man  in  town. 
Goin'  to  be  in  this  evenin'  ?  " 

Mr.  Warden  looked  away.     "  Possibly." 

"  Couldn't  see  you  sooner?  " 


CONVERSATIONS  107 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  Squire.  Grey  was  struck  by 
the  sound  of  the  shaky  voice. 

"  When  do  you  meet  your  new  hands?  Wish  I 
could  see  you  do  it.  Pay  'em  in  advance,  will  ye  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Well,  I  hope  it'll  come  off  soon.  Would  it  be  this 
aft'noon?  Ain't  got  a  letter  there,  have  ye?  Good 
resolutions  are  jest  like  gold  dollars  —  fine  things  to 
keep.  Anyhow,  I'll  see  you  —  later,  Mr.  Virtue  — 
Warden,  I  mean." 

"  At  any  time,  sir,"  the  old  gentleman  replied. 
"  I'm  always  at  the  disposal  of  Mr.  Grey's  friends." 

"  And  French's,  too?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Warden  unsteadily.  "  When  they 
come  well  recommended." 

And  with  that  he  ascended  the  steps,  and  locked 
himself  into  the  little  office. 

"  I  thought  you  said  he  was  cross,"  was  the  Cap- 
tain's comment. 

"  I  wish  he  was  in  the  sea,"  Grey  returned,  for  he 
had  not  relished  Mr.  Warden's  manner. 

"  Oh,  no!  "  exclaimed  the  other.  "  That  wouldn't 
do  at  all.  Good-bye,"  he  added  suddenly.  "  I  think 
I'm  goin'  to  like  you.  Also  my  day  of  observation- 
ing  is  now  done.  French  have  I  looked  upon  —  and 
there's  a  man !  Also  the  most  finest  appearin'  female 
in  town,  whose  name  we  know  but  will  not  speak, 
wishin'  to  be  respectful.  Also  Mr.  Grey;  also  Mr. 
Warden,  who  appears  not  so  cross  as  some." 

"  Who  in  thunder  are  you  ?  "  asked  the  painter. 


108  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  An  old  rascal,"  said  the  pirate.      "  And  don't  ask 
me  no  more,  for  that's  the  hull  story." 


VIII 

A  CHANGE   OF   MIND 

JEAN  could  not  remember  to  have  seen  her  guard- 
ian look  as  troubled  and  vexed  as  when  an  hour 
or  so  later  she  came  into  the  house. 

"It's  you,  eh?"  he  rasped  out,  and  his  look  had 
in  it  a  degree  of  hatred  the  girl  could  not  measure. 
To  her  it  appeared  no  more  than  a  bit  of  irritation 
because  the  door  had  slammed  behind  her.  "  Where've 
you  been  ?  " 

The  usual  question,  and  she  answered  it,  as  al- 
ways, straightforwardly. 

"  And  again  it  was  Grey  to  the  rescue,"  she 
laughed,  as  she  unpinned  her  hat.  "  I  don't  know 
what  I'd  have  done  otherwise.  I  could  see  your 
face,"  she  continued  gaily,  "  as  I  came  marching  down 
Kingsford  street  escorted  by  French.  Tell  me,  Uncle, 
are  the  new  hands  really  coming  this  afternoon?  " 

"  I  telegraphed  for  them.  They're  coming.  Yes. 
I  hope  you  haven't  got  any  objections." 

His  tone  and  manner  lit  up  a  gay  fire  of  teasing 
within  her,  though  a  moment  before  she  had  resolved 
to  try  to  coax  the  crotchety  old  man  into  a  better 
humor. 

"  It'll  cost  a  good  deal,  won't  it? "  Jean  asked 
109 


110  THE  UPPER  HAND 

sweetly,  busy  with  the  garden  roses,  which  she  found 
at  that  moment  needed  resettling  in  their  jar  on  the 
book-case.  "  /  think  — " 

"  You  think  and  you  think ! "  the  Squire  snarled, 
catching  her  up  in  the  midst  of  a  sentence.  "  Who 
are  you  talking  to,  young  lady?  What  affair's  it  of 
yours  ?  " 

"  Hiring  new  men,  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  One'd  think  you  could  plan  some  better  use  for 
my  money  —  mine,"  he  said,  trying  to  appear  at  his 
ease,  though  her  apparently  innocent  question  made 
him  wonder  if  somehow  she  had  learned  certain 
things. 

"  I  could,  easily,"  she  answered  promptly.  "  You 
could  spend  it  so  much  better  —  and  more  justly." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  he  cried,  jumping  up  with 
an  exclamation  of  fear  and  dismay. 

But  she  laughed  aloud,  not  perceiving  the  old  man's 
agitation,  though  it  was  plain  enough.  In  thought 
she  had  gone  back  from  the  question  of  the  strike  to 
Dana  Grey.  She  had  liked  his  honest,  rugged  face, 
and  his  blunt  talk.  She  had  heard  some  gossip  con- 
cerning the  less  than  usual  success  attending  his  last 
exhibition  —  ill-luck  nobody  understood  in  so  well- 
known  a  painter. 

"  I  know  a  young  person  —  youngish,  that  is," 
Jean  explained,  blushing  a  little,  "  who  deserves  a 
share  of  your  money  anyway." 

"He  told  you?" 


A  CHANGE  OF  MIND  111 

"  Hardly."  Again  her  teasing  laughter  chimed 
out. 

"You  knew  him?     That  man?     So  changed?" 

"  He's  always  looked  the  same  to  me,"  Jean  replied 
innocently. 

Mr.  Warden  bared  his  teeth  in  a  wolfish  smile. 

"  I  shall  be  rid  of  you  both  before  long,  please  the 

"  As  soon  as  you  like,"  she  cried  gaily,  with  another 
Lord." 

blush  which  made  her  a  delight  to  see.  And  she  fled 
from  the  room,  with  the  echo  of  her  gay  laughter 
lingering  behind  her  like  a  delicate  perfume. 

For  the  first  time  in  many  months  the  old  man  did 
not  go  directly  to  his  little  office  from  his  noon  meal. 
He  limped  instead  to  his  chair  by  the  window,  and 
fell  to  studying  with  curious  care  every  one  of  the  few 
passers-by.  It  was  true  that  during  the  last  few 
years  he  had  indulged  this  odd  little  habit  of  scouting 
each  time  he  left  the  house,  but  today  he  was  so  long 
about  it  that  Mrs.  Marsden,  the  housekeeper,  thought 
his  idling  worth  her  comment. 

"  Too  tired  to  go  up-street?  " 

"  I  was  just  leaving."  Again  he  glanced  out- 
doors, and  this  time  dodged  back  quickly.  A  bent 
figure  in  blue  was  stumping  briskly  by,  the  same  old 
fellow  who  had  appeared  upon  the  office  steps  with 
Grey.  But  now  he  carried,  tucked  under  his  arm,  a 
mahogany  box,  like  those  which  train  conductors  car- 
ry for  their  tickets,  cash,  and  reports. 


THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  Who's  that  man  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Marsden,  follow- 
ing her  master's  stare. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  never  saw  him,"  he  protested 
quickly.  "  I  guess  I'll  stay  home  after  all  today." 

"  You  seem  kinder  upset." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it."  Mr.  Warden  braced  back  his 
shoulders.  "  No,  I  guess  I'll  go.  There  are  one  or 
two  things  to  attend  to,  probably." 

"Postin'  books?" 

"  Something  to  do  with  accounts.  Yes."  His 
mirth  was  like  a  groan.  "  Something  to  do  with 
my  accounts,"  Mr.  Warden  repeated. 

He  found  Captain  Bassett  installed,  not  out  by  the 
door  where  the  casual  visitor  usually  sat,  but  in  be- 
hind the  stove  —  the  place  for  Mr.  Warden's  inti- 
mates, since  from  here  extended,  at  right  angles  to 
the  rest  of  the  office,  a  kind  of  alcove  or  shallow  ell 
where  stood  the  safe,  the  Squire's  own  desk  and 
swivel-chair. 

Perched  on  the  edge  of  another  chair  was  Farley 
the  clerk,  who  suspended  work  on  Mr.  Warden's  book 
to  watch  in  amazement  and  uncertainty  the  coolness 
with  which  the  venerable  invader  had  made  himself 
at  home,  feeling  the  while  that  to  thrust  Captain 
Bassett  forth  upon  the  street  would  not  exactly  an- 
swer. 

"  This  gen'l'man,"  Farley  announced  severely  as 
he  descended  swiftly  from  his  perch,  "  said  he  was  an 
old  friend  of  yours,  sir." 


A  CHANGE  OF  MIND  113 

The  Captain  giggled.  "  Let  him  deny  it,"  he  re- 
plied invitingly. 

"  I'm  glad  you  made  yourself  at  home,"  said  Mr. 
Warden  to  him  slowly.  "  Just  a  minute,  while  I 
speak  to  my  clerk  here.  I  want  you  to  drive  over  to 
Harmonville,  William,"  he  continued  coolly.  "  I 
want  you  to  see  how  well  you  can  buy  that  seed-corn 
of  Joe  May's.  Take  the  brown  horse  and  the  Con- 
cord." 

And  Farley  disappeared  with  decent  haste,  while 
Captain  Bassett  snickered. 

"  Got  a  clerk,  I  see." 

"  You  haven't  been  here  lately.  Things  happen, 
even  in  Kingsford." 

"  Some  of  'em  most  surprising.  If  only  the  pa- 
pers could  have  got  hold  of  'em." 

Mr.  Warden  limped  to  his  chair.  "  The  papers 
may  get  hold  of  them  some  day.  And  there'll  be 
questions  asked." 

"  You  don't  say ! "  exclaimed  the  Captain  incredu- 
lously. "  What,  for  instance  ?  " 

"  I  guess  you  know  well  enough,"  the  other  replied 
vaguely,  and  trying  to  appear  cool,  though  his  hand 
shook  as  he  unlocked  his  desk. 

The  Captain  sat  perfectly  still,  hugging  his  knees, 
watching  like  a  cat. 

"  Take  your  hands  out  of  that  desk  drawer, 
Squire !  "  he  commanded  suddenly. 

"What  d'ye  think's  the  matter?"  Mr.  Warden 
continued  to  fumble  among  some  papers. 


114.  THE  UPPER  HAND 

t 

"  Take  them  out!     Hands  up!  " 

The  mahogany  box  clattered  from  the  Captain's  lap 
to  the  floor,  while  an  uncompromising  revolver  was 
pointed  straight  at  the  Squire's  body,  making  him 
shrink  away  with  a  swift  intake  of  his  breath. 

"  Now  pull  that  drawer  out  as  fur  as  'twill  go. 
So's  I  kin  see."  The  stranger  peered  through  his 
glasses.  "  I  kinder  guessed  you  might  be  keeping 
something  handy  there,"  he  observed  complainingly. 

"  It's  for  burglars,"  said  Mr.  Warden.  "  Did  you 
think  it  was  for  you?  " 

"For  me?  So  that  was  why  the  clerk  was  sent 
away.  *  No  witness,'  says  you !  But  I'd  no  idea  you 
was  violent,  Mr.  Virtue.  I  suppose,"  the  Captain 
went  on  argumentatively,  with  his  head  on  one  side, 
"  you'd  kill  me  for  ten  cents." 

The  Squire  gabbled  something.  "  I'm  not  the  kind 
that  does  murder,"  he  got  out  at  last. 

"  Keep  your  weapon  handier,  if  you  ever  want  to 
do  one,"  advised  the  Captain.  "  Shut  the  drawer  'n% 
lock  it.  Now  we  kin  talk  things  over  cool  and  col- 
lected." He  picked  up  the  box.  "  I'm  coming  here 
to  live,  friend.  Up  at  the  old  house." 

"  With  me?  "  Mr.  Warden  asked  blankly. 

"  No,  no.  Up  on  the  Ledges.  Th'  old  French 
place.  You  know  where.  I  was  there  this  morning. 
There  I  be  goin'  to  live  and  see  Kingsford  all  day 
long.  Also  the  sea  to  the  east'ard." 

Fear,  anger,  puzzlement,  blank  dismay  chased 
over  the  other's  face  like  heavy  clouds  on  a  windy  sky. 


A  CHANGE  OF  MIND  115 

He  broke  out  in  a  stream  of  objections,  threats,  and 
entreaties,  while  Captain  Bassett  only  giggled. 

"  Nobody's  goin'  to  know  nothing  about  one  thing 
or  the  other,  Virtue.  I'm  just  Captain  Bassett,  re- 
tired from  the  life  of  a  mariner,  livin'  on  a  pension 
furnished  by  my  beloved  friends.  A  modest  pension, 
Squire,  for  the  most  part  of  the  money  is  for  another 
purpose." 

"  You  didn't  come  back  to  tell?  "  asked  Mr.  War- 
den after  a  pause. 

"  No,  indeedy.  I've  got  my  own  way  to  arrange 
things,  same  as  you  know  about." 

Three  o'clock  clanged  out. 

"  Just  one  thing  before  I  go,"  remarked  the  Cap- 
tain, after  another  silence,  during  which  Mr.  War- 
den's face  grew  old  and  haggard.  "  This  business 
about  hirin*  new  hands.  I  always  was  a  friend  of 
honest  labor,"  he  grinned,  "  French  is  the  man  you 
really  ought  to  back  up." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  A  thousand  dollars !  "  mused  the  Captain.  "  And 
you've  got  it  ready  to  spend  on  these  new  workmen. 
You  give  it  away  to  others  as  easy  as  spittin'. 
Where  is  it?  In  the  bank  or  in  your  pocket?" 

"  It's  mine  to  give,  wherever  it  is." 

"  Not  this  special  thousand,  Virtue.  That  be- 
longs," cried  the  old  rover,  dropping  his  smooth  talk, 
"  in  the  famous  mahogany  box." 

There  came  no  answer  from  the  man  in  the  swivel 
chair.  He  did  not  seem  to  hear,  but  a  slow  red  suf- 


116  THE  UPPER  HAND 

fused  his  forehead  and  temples,  and  a  sudden  swelling 
showed  in  the  blue  knotty  veins  of  his  hands.  The 
buzz  of  the  drunken  flies  in  the  sunny  window  sounded 
very  loud ;  one  could  hear  the  drip,  drip  of  some  leaky 
water  butt  outside  at  the  side  entrance.  The  quarter 
hour  struck. 

"  They're  liable  to  be  here  in  a  minute,"  remarked 
the  Captain.  "  Remember  what  I  say." 

Voices  coming  along  the  street  carried  to  the  rear 
of  the  quiet  store,  and  Mr.  Warden  pulled  himself 
up  in  his  chair. 

"If  I  refuse?" 

The  Captain  showed  his  pistol  lying  in  his  lap  un- 
der the  edge  of  his  coat. 

"  If  you  don't  send  these  fellers  straight  back  the 
way  they  come,  you'll  never  live  to  get  home,  Virtue. 
That's  my  promise." 

"  They'll  hang  you  for  it.  You'd  ought  to  have 
been  hung  long  ago." 

"  Then  I'll  meet  you  Down  Below,"  whispered  Cap- 
tain Bassett,  leaning  forward  with  a  genial  smile. 

Mr.  Bailey  and  Colonel  Gregory,  with  a  half  dozen 
working  men  in  their  Sunday  clothes,  clattered  in,  to 
find  Mr.  Warden  turning  over  the  leaves  of  a  ledger, 
much  bored,  as  it  seemed,  by  a  long  story  which  a 
venerable  pirate  was  telling  as  he  sat  in  a  corner  of 
the  little  office. 

"  —  And  that's  what  I  said  all  along,"  this  latter 
concluded  triumphantly.  "  There's  reserved  seats 
even  in  Hell,  I  said  to  him." 


A  CHANGE  OF  MIND  117 

The  newcomers  eyed  him  askance,  nodding  indif- 
ferently to  his  salute,  which  was  vaguely  military  as 
he  caught  the  Colonel's  eye. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Mr.  Warden.  "Glad  to  see 
you." 

"  It's  a  happy  occasion,"  Mr.  Bailey  returned. 
"  And  it  don't  need  my  saying  so  to  make  it  so." 

The  Colonel  whispered. 

"  You  won't  mind  our  talking  business,  Cap'n  Bas- 
sett  ?  "  asked  the  Squire,  scarcely  aloud. 

"  If  these  gents  don't  object,  I'd  like  to  sit  here 
very  much.  I'll  just  look  at  your  paper  before  I  go 
along." 

"  Cap'n  Bassett's  thinking  of  settling  here  in 
Kingsford,"  Mr.  Warden  gabbled,  turning  to  the 
others.  "  He's  going  to  live  in  the  old  house  on  the 
Ledges.  He's  just  quit  seafaring.  He  —  he'll  make 
an  addition  to  our  — " 

"  Never  mind  me,"  interruped  the  other.  "  You 
want  to  talk  business,  you  said.  You  men  are  in  for 
a  first  class  job,  I  guess,"  he  said  to  the  new  hands. 
"  Here's  the  Squire  famous  for  his  bein*  so  generous, 
also  nice  to  work  under.  I'm  jest  glad  to  see  him 
hirin'  such  fine  lookin'  boys,  too.  I  tell  you  —  but, 
great  dee !  "  He  made  a  gesture  as  if  to  take  him- 
self out  of  sight.  "  Here  I  am  obstructin'  the  high- 
way! Go  on  'n'  hire  your  outside  help,  sir.  I  say, 
let  me  see  you  do  it;  and  down  with  all  strikers, 
b'jolly!" 

He  beamed  jovially  on  them  all,  quite  unabashed 


118  THE  UPPER  HAND 

by  the  amazement  in  the  faces  of  the  workmen  and 
the  mistrust  in  the  bald  Colonel's. 

Mr.  Warden  hesitated  a  moment.  He  did  not  look 
at  his  visitors.  He  stabbed  his  pen-knife  lightly  into 
the  top  of  his  desk  again  and  again. 

"  You  came  pretty  promptly,  didn't  you  ?  "  he  said 
uncertainly,  half  resentfully. 

"  Wai,  you  said's  how  you  wanted  us,"  replied  the 
foremost  of  the  new  men.  "  And  'twasn't  fur  to 
come." 

The  Squire  smiled  then.  "  I'm  glad  it  wasn't  any 
further.  It'd  be  a  pity  to  've  had  a  long  trip  here." 

"  How  d'ye  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  won't  have  so  far  to  go  back,"  he  ex- 
plained. "  In  case  — " 

"  But,  Warden,  my  God,  you  know ! "  broke  from 
the  Colonel.  "  You  don't  mean  that  you  ain't  — 
damme !  —  I  know  it's  your  own  business,  but  it's  for 
old  Kingsford  that  you're  acting  as  well  as  for  your- 
self. Ex-cuse  me  for  speaking  out,  but  —  Bailey !  " 

The  farmer  looked  wonderingly  from  one  of  his 
superior  officers  to  the  other.  "  It  ain't  for  me  to  say 
a  word,  Squire  — " 

"  No.  Thank  you.  It's  all  my  lookout,  Bailey. 
Now,"  he  went  on,  stabbing  faster  with  his  knife, 
"  the  truth  is  that  you  boys  came  just  a  shade  too 
soon.  I  —  I'm  not  quite  sure  I'm  ready.  Maybe 
it's  just  as  well  to  go  a  little  slow,  and  — " 

"  Warden !  "  cried  the  Colonel.  "  You're  not  go- 
ing to  back  down." 


A  CHANGE  OF  MIND  119 

"How  do  I  know  about  your  work?"  he  asked 
querulously.  "  You're  not  used  to  my  ways  at  the 
mill.  And  —  and  anyway  " —  he  bent  his  head  low- 
er over  his  desk,  as  he  caught  a  look  from  the  silent 
Captain,  and  murmured :  "  I'm  a  little  short  of 
money  just  now,  too.  I'm  half  willing  to  close  the 
mill  for  a  while.  I  — " 

Mr.  Bailey  advanced  a  stride,  his  fat  face  flaming. 
"  You  ain't  going  back  on  your  resolve,  sir?  "  he  de- 
manded swiftly.  "  You're  thinkin'  o'  takin'  back 
them  fool  strikers?" 

"  There's  a  good  deal  to  be  considered,"  came  the 
feeble  answer.  "  I'll  do  what's  right.  Only  nothing 
hasty.  And," —  he  dove  into  his  desk, — "  here's  your 
expenses,  men.  I'll  see  you  later.  I  guess  you  were 
in  too  much  of  a  hurry." 

The  Colonel  laughed.  "  You  mean  you've  backed 
down,  eh?  " 

He  protested  vaguely;  and  the  stranger  giggled 
over  some  joke  he  found  in  the  paper.  The  Colonel 
turned  to  him. 

"  I'm  sorry  you're  by  to  hear  this." 

"  I  suppose  Mr.  Warden's  got  a  good  reason  for 
not  spendin'  his  hard  earned  money  on  these  outsiders, 
sir,"  the  other  retorted  briskly.  "  Ain't  that  so, 
Squire?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  gasped  the  victim.     "  A  good  reason." 

"  Then  there's  nothing  for  us  to  say  or  do,"  cried 
the  warrior.  "  We  may  as  well  go,  Bailey." 


120  THE  UPPER  HAND 

The  farmer  retreated,  staring  and  gasping. 
The  thing  was  preposterous. 

"  Warden !  "  he  repeated,  "  you  ain't  really  going 
to  back  out ! " 

The  other  man  nodded,  waved  them  away,  and 
locked  the  desk  tight.  Then,  "Bailey!"  he  called 
shrilly,  when  the  men  were  gone.  "  Wait,  wait !  " 

But  the  pirate  pushed  him  back  into  his  chair, 
spent  and  gasping.  The  sweat  poured  from  the  old 
man's  white  face. 

"  You  should  'a'  told  'em,"  said  Captain  Bas- 
sett  judicially,  "  that  charity  begins  at  home.  He 
heapeth  up  riches  and  cannot  tell  who  shall  gather 
them.  One  p'int  more,  Virtue,  and  we'll  consider  the 
incident  closed.  So  far,  so  good." 

"  You'll  get  nothing." 

"No?  Remember  what  happened  that  time?" 
And  he  laid  his  finger  on  the  terrible  burn  scored 
along  Mr.  Warden's  wrist.  "  That  ain't  a  circum- 
stance to  what  I  kin  do." 

"  I  haven't  a  cent." 

"  You  always  was  a  liar,  though  polite,  Andrew. 
The  desk  — ?  "  Here  he  shook  the  mahogany  box, 
which  gave  out  a  faint  rustle  and  chink.  There  was 
a  slit  in  the  top,  and  the  corners  were  bound  in  brass. 
"  Any  trifle,  friend.  The  thousand  dollars  — ?  I'm 
'most  sure  there's  cash  on  hand.  That  was  why  you 
was  so  ready  about  hirin'  help.  'Twill  be  a  fine  thing 
to  die  with  clean  hands  and  a  pure  heart  ?  " 

There  was  more  talk,  though  not  much,  before  Mr, 


A  CHANGE  OF  MIND  121 

Warden,  with  the  fear  of  death  in  his  old  heart,  un- 
locked the  desk  again,  and  one  by  one  dropped  some 
bills  into  Captain  Bassett's  box. 

"  Now  go,"  he  groaned. 

The  Captain  rose  and  buttoned  his  coat.  "  You 
was  surely  foolish  to  act  the  way  you  did,  Squire. 
Time  was  when  you  might  'a'  met  your  old  sire  on 
•Abraham's  bosom  for  certain.  But  now,"  he  con- 
cluded easily,  "  I  guess  you'll  keep  company  with  the 
other  rich  man.  And  I  guess  livin'  here  ain't  goin' 
to  be  none  too  pleasant  for  you.  Which  is  exactly 
like  it  should  be." 

With  that  Captain  Bassett  stumped  out  of  the  of- 
fice, and  for  the  rest  of  the  day  Kingsford  knew  him 
no  more.  Not  till  the  peace  and  quiet  of  blackest 
midnight  lay  upon  the  village  did  the  burly  figure 
with  the  box  reappear,  and  then  it  was  from  the  di- 
rection of  the  Eagle  Hotel  across  the  ferry.  It 
chuckled  gaily  as  it  went;  it  took  prodigiously  high 
and  long  steps;  it  fetched  wide  sweeps  around  the 
simplest  obstacles.  It  halted  in  front  of  Mr.  War- 
den's little  office,  stood  for  a  moment  deep  in  contem- 
plation, and  then  with  an  energy  that  was  as  great  as 
it  was  uncertain  of  aim,  the  strayed  reveller  under- 
took a  work  of  thorough  destruction.  His  schoolboy 
giggle  profaned  the  silent  night. 


IX 

A    SKIRMISH 

NEXT  morning  at  mail  time  Kingsford  consid- 
ered just  two  subjects,  although  the  New 
York  papers  had  front  pages  given  up  to  a 
Jewish  massacre  and  the  testimony  of  a  girl  on  trial 
for  murder.  On  the  bench  out  on  the  platform  where 
the  gentry  disposed  themselves  on  pleasant  days,  or 
on  the  counters  and  barrels  inside  the  emporium, 
Squire  Warden's  queer  backdown  and  the  splendidly 
complete  wreck  of  the  windows  in  his  little  office  took 
precedence  over  every  other  matter  to  be  settled. 
The  questions  were  so  beautifully  tangled!  They 
were  meaty  to  debate,  since  they  had  as  many  sides 
as  the  debaters  had  points  of  view.  Colonel  Gregory 
had  begun  to  pound  the  platform  with  his  stick  by 
way  of  helping  out  his  somewhat  choked  utterance, 
and  Mr.  Duncan,  the  chief  of  the  artists,  was  grow- 
ing supercilious,  when  a  solution  seemed  to  present 
itself  in  the  person  of  Mr.  Warden  himself. 

It  was  curious  to  see  what  a  look  of  relief  lighted 
up  his  face  as  the  Colonel  fired  his  question  at  him. 
As  the  Squire  came  up,  he  had  appeared  as  it  were 
uncertain  of  his  reception.  He  was  evidently  an- 
noyed when  one  of  his  strikers  hailed  him  from  in- 


A  SKIRMISH 

side  the  post-office  with  a  bit  of  praise  for  sending 
away  the  new  hands,  and  glanced  with  a  nervous 
smile  at  his  friends  on  the  bench,  as  though  dreading 
what  they  might  betray  to  him  of  their  opinions  about 
the  leader  of  old  Kingsford  having  weakened  ever  so 
little  before  a  foolish  enemy.  But  what  Colonel 
Gregory  demanded  was  an  answer  to  a  different  ques- 
tion. 

"  Oh,  that! "  exclaimed  the  Squire,  and  some 
strength  came  back  into  his  face.  "  No,  I  don't 
know  who  broke  my  windows.  I  wish  you'd  tell  me." 

"  It  was  those  dam'  mill-hands,  of  course,"  the  war- 
rior snorted,  smiting  down  his  black-thorn.  "  Dun- 
can, don't  you  dare  say  the  contrary." 

"  If  you  know  that's  the  case,  why  that's  all  there 
is  to  it,"  the  artist  sneered,  with  a  provoking  lift  of 
his  eyebrows,  which  he  could  raise  to  an  extraordinary 
height. 

"  I  don't  know  anything,"  shouted  the  Colonel. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  Duncan  protested  lightly.  "  Some- 
thing, Colonel,  something." 

"  I'd  like  to  get  on  the  track  of  the  rascal,  Mr. 
Warden  went  on  rapidly,  his  voice  getting  back  its 
old  hard  ring.  "  I'll  fix  him  if  I  catch  him." 

"  Is  that  a  fact,  Squire?  "  inquired  an  unfamiliar 
voice.  The  gentlemen  looked  around  to  see  Captain 
Bassett  standing  in  the  door,  a  scarcely  lovely  vision 
in  the  strong  light,  with  his  generally  rumpled  ap- 
pearance and  his  hollow  fiery  eyes.  "  D'you  really 
want  to  catch  the  vandal  ?  " 


THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  Yes,  sir."  Mr.  Warden  seemed  anxious  to  keep 
on  the  one  line.  "  It  was  an  outrage.  I  don't  care 
how  often  or  how  long  French  and  his  friends  try  to 
make  trouble  for  me  —  and  for  themselves  —  but  — " 

"  Then  why  — "  began  Bailey,  who  had  lain  awake 
trying  to  figure  out  the  explanation  of  the  other  mys- 
tery. 

"  But  I  won't  submit  to  an  outrage  like  this  win- 
dow-smashing !  "  The  Squire  announced,  riding  over 
the  farmer's  interruption  rough-shod.  "  I  propose 
to  find  out  who  did  it,  too."  And  he  looked  about, 
breathing  hard. 

"  In  what  way  ?  "  asked  Bassett. 

"  This  way,  sir."  Mr.  Warden  answered,  with 
such  a  complete  recovery  of  his  old  manner  and  tone, 
that  Bailey  found  he  could  hardly  believe  that  he 
had  seen  this  same  leading  citizen  cowed  and  nervous, 
going  back  on  his  own  resolutions,  only  the  afternoon 
before.  The  Squire  peeled  a  five-dollar  bill  off  the 
neat  bundle  in  his  pocket-book,  and  held  it  up  to 
public  view.  "  This  is  the  way  I  propose  to  use." 

"  A  good  way,"  commented  the  pirate.  "  For  in- 
formation leadin'  to  the  arrest  and  conviction  of  the 
guilty  party?  The  best  way.  It  works.  Hand  it 
over,  Squire."  And  he  extended  a  slightly  tremulous 
hand. 

"  To  you?  "  Mr.  Warden  seemed  to  lose  his  cour- 
age. 

"  To     me."     He     smiled     sunnily,     though     the 


A  SKIRMISH  125 

effect  was  disconcerting,  and  crooked  his  fore-finger 
invitingly.  "  I  need  it  more'n  anybody  present." 

"  But  what  d'you  know  about  the  matter?  "  stam- 
mered the  Squire  doubtfully,  trying  not  to  under- 
stand the  meaning  of  the  man's  bland  smile,  hoping 
that  nobody  else  would  understand  it. 

"  Tell  the  Squire,"  ordered  Colonel  Gregory. 

"Surely.  Only  not  C.  O.  D."  And  again  the 
stumpy  finger  crooked  commandingly.  "  A  bill  in 
the  hand  —  ah,  thankee,  Squire !  —  is  worth  a  hun- 
dred out  of  it." 

"  Well,  sir?  "  demanded  the  Colonel,  who  had  taken 
out  of  Mr.  Warden's  mouth  any  speech  he  may  have 
had. 

"  My  memory  ain't  what  it  was,"  the  pirate  ad- 
mitted. "  And  last  night  was  awful  foggy." 

"  It  was  not." 

"  Ex-cuse  me.  The  hull  length  of  your  main  street 
from  the  ferry  landing  up  was  wrapped  in  —  in  im- 
penetrable mist.  I  know,"  sighed  the  Captain,  seat- 
ing himself  carefully.  "  But  when  you  speak  of  a 
window  bein'  busted,"  he  continued,  in  the  same  tone 
of  melancholy  meditation,  "  it  does  seem  to  me  that 
I  saw  the  feller  throwin'  them  stones  mose  careful. 
Every  pane  he  busted  easy  enough,  all  but  one.  Say, 
Squire,  did  the  critter  fetch  that  corner  pane  up  near 
the  top,  or  didn't  he?  Oh,  he  did?  Wai,  there's 
nothin'  like  keepin'  forever  at  a  thing." 

"  Who  was  he?  Why  didn't  you  stop  him?"  the 
Colonel  and  Mr.  Warden  asked  together. 


126  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  Stop  him  ?  "  echoed  the  pirate,  cocking  up  his 
watery  eye  at  the  Squire.  "  How  could  I?  Wasn't 
it  myself  that  done  the  bustin'  ?  "  he  quavered  weakly. 
"  Arrest  me,  Mr.  Warden.  Behold  the  villain.  Only 
really  it  was  rum  —  Hooker's  rum  at  that  —  which 
done  it.  I'm  awaitin',"  he  added  patiently.  "  Bear 
witness  that  I  ain't  tried  to  escape  the  law,  gen'l'men." 

The  Squire  laughed  woodenly,  trying  in  that  way 
to  carry  off  the  situation,  and  with  an  air  of  amused 
condescension  tapped  the  pirate  lightly  on  the  shoul- 
der. 

"I  —  I'll  not  press  the  charge,"  he  said  gaily. 
"Consider  yourself  discharged,  Captain.  Lack  of 
evidence,  you  see,"  he  said  to  the  others  by  him,  who 
were  a  bit  in  doubt  as  to  whether  the  Squire  really 
did  forgive  the  old  fellow  his  trespass,  or  was  afraid 
to  do  anything  else,  as  Bailey  could  not  help  suspect- 
ing, absurd  as  the  supposition  was. 

By  this  time  the  platform  was  fairly  well  filled  with 
people  coming  for  their  mail,  most  of  whom  stopped 
to  see  what  the  fun  was,  when  the  little  group  around 
the  Captain  broke  out  in  a  laugh  at  Mr.  Warden's 
expense;  and  the  doorway  framed  French  and  a 
couple  of  his  friends,  who  had  followed  old  Bassett 
out.  Upon  all  these  spectators  he  turned  his  smile. 
Then  he  contemplated  the  five  dollars,  then  squinted 
at  the  Squire. 

"  I  don't  feel  like  keepin*  that  money,"  he  said. 
"  It  come  too  easy.  I  tell  you  what  we'll  do.  I'll 
celebrate  my  escape  from  jail,  thanks  to  the  Squire; 


A  SKIRMISH  127 

he  shall  celebrate  bein'  such  a  virtuous  'n'  godly  man 
without  a  black  mark  agin  his  name;  and  the  rest  o' 
you  shall  drink  to  —  better  days  in  general." 

"  Good ! "  cried  French  from  the  door. 

"  Come  in ! "  ordered  the  Captain,  scrambling  up, 
and  shepherding  them  all  into  the  Emporium.  "  Set 
out  some  pop,  Burns,  if  you  das'n't  show  what  you 
keep  in  the  patent  med'cine  bottle  under  the  coun- 
ter." 

"  With  pleasure ! "  Mr.  Warden  said,  as  he  poured 
out  some  potent  ginger  ale  a  moment  later.  He  had 
accepted  the  joke  in  apparently  high  good  humor. 

"  It's  your  money,"  replied  Bassett.  "  French, 
you're  drinkin'  on  your  boss.  Squire,  you  can't 
spend  your  money  better  than  on  these  boys  o'  yours. 
Don't  you  feel  sorter  extra  virtuous  this  minute, 
thinkin'  of  the  good  your  money's  doin'  ?  Think 
how  I'm  enjoyin'  myself! "  he  chuckled,  as  he  drained 
his  molasses  colored  sarsaparilla.  "  Hey  ?  What's 
the  matter,  Colonel?"  he  asked  suddenly.  "Ain't 
you  got  a  glass?  " 

"  I  came  in  for  my  morning  mail,  sir.  Nothing 
else,"  replied  the  ex-soldier.  "  Pray  enjoy  your- 
selves without  me." 

"  Can't  be  done,"  said  the  other  positively. 
"  Burns,  give  the  Colonel  some  nerve-tonic.  Will  you 
jine  us,  sir?  Same  as  the  Squire?  " 

Colonel  Gregory  glared  at  him  through  his  glasses, 
then  at  Mr.  Warden  over  them.  "  I  can't  under- 
stand, Squire,  how  you  can  do  that  —  that!  "  :he  gab- 


128  THE  UPPER  HAND 

bled,  pointing  at  his  friend's  glass.  "  I  suppose  you 
have  some  reason  or  excuse  for  drinking  toasts  with 
your  striking  mill-hands  and  their  piratical  friend 
here ;  but  as  for  me,  sir,"  he  went  on  addressing  Bas- 
sett,  "  I  never  drink  with  rebels,  sir.  And  that's  what 
French  is." 

"  Sir?  "  asked  the  Captain  mildly. 

"  I  never  did  and  never  will  drink  with  a  rebel." 

"  Then,"  said  the  other,  "  the  time  has  come  for 
you  to  explain  a  part  o'  your  record,  Colonel.  As 
an  old  soldier  " —  he  saluted  — "  I  think  you  kinder 
owe  it  to  us  all.  /  seen  you,  Colonel,  when  you  was 
set  on  drinkin'  with  a  rebel,  and  a  Johnny  Reb  to 
boot." 

The  Colonel  exploded,  but  when  the  air  cleared  the 
retired  mariner  was  still  smiling,  and  perched  entirely 
unmoved  on  the  counter. 

"It's  a  fact,"  he  reasserted.  "Shall  I  tell  'em 
about  it?  " 

"Tell  'em?  Tell  what?  Go  ahead.  Tell  what 
you  like.  But  if  you  — " 

"There,  there,"  cooed  Bassett.  "I  won't  tell 
about  nothin'  to  make  you  uneasy  one  bit.  I  hate 
to  see  a  man  git  so  red  as  you  be.  Won't  take  not 
even  a  finger  of  tonic?  You  do  look  so  het  up?  " 

"  Never  mind  that,  sir."  The  Colonel  clapped 
himself  down  into  a  backless  chair,  bristling  in  every 
gray  hair,  and  thundering  distantly  concerning  liars 
and  rascals. 

"  What  I  was  thinkin'  of,"  explained  the  Captain, 


A  SKIRMISH  129 

"  was  a  few  minutes  I  spent  with  the  commandin'  of- 
ficer of  the  Sixty-Fourth  Connecticut  when  him  and 
his  reg'ment  along  with  mine  —  the,  wal,  never 
mind,"  he  said  unblushingly ;  "  name's  is  nothing  — 
was  ordered  to  fall  back  from  the  firm'  line  to  a  cer- 
tain small  cross  roads  town  in  Virginia.  The  shell 
fire  was  too  thck."  He  paused  for  a  moment,  and 
the  little  crowd  hung  breathlessly  on  his  words;  for 
Kingsford  had  not  outgrown  its  love  of  the  old  war 
stories,  and  was  more  or  less  glad,  if  the  truth  be 
told,  to  hear  them  from  the  lips  of  another  veteran 
than  their  own  Colonel,  who  lacked  imagination  and 
waxed  angry  at  the  least  inattention.  "  I  don't  for- 
get that  retreat.  7  ran,"  the  Captain  confessed. 

"  D'you  mean  the  retreat  on  Johnsburg? "  de- 
manded the  Colonel,  trying  to  recall  his  four  cam- 
paigns. 

"  I  knew  you'd  remember,"  the  narrator  said 
quietly,  as  if  a  bit  annoyed  at  the  interruption. 

"  Well,  we  got  into  the  town ;  and  every  minute  or 
rather  second  you'd  hear  a  cussed  shell  come  singin' 
along,  and — " 

"  What'd  they  sound  like?  "  gasped  a  boy. 

"  Hope  you'll  never  hear  'em,  son.  And  rip,  smash, 
bang!  down'd  come  some  chimney  or  other,  or  the 
smoke  'n'  flames'd  come  a-pourin'  out  of  some  house. 
And  them  boys  in  blue  tdk'm'  it!  Standin'  there  in 
the  streets  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  'cause  they  hadn't 
no  orders  what  to  do.  *  What'll  we  do  ?  '  I  says  to  an 
officer,  for  I  wanted  to  git  away  quick.  '  Do?  '  says 


130  THE  UPPER  HAND 

he.  *  Find  the  Colonel  if  you  can.  He's  lost  sora- 
'eres.'  '  Thought  I  seen  him  go  into  the  hotel  yon- 
der,' I  says.  '  Then  look  him  up,'  says  he,  '  and  give 
him  Major  Bird's  compliments  and  what  in  hell's  goin' 
to  happen?'  says  he." 

The  Colonel  began  to  swear,  but  Mr.  Warden 
checked  him.  "  Wait  a  minute,"  he  whispered. 
"  'Twas  a  rebel  town  of  course  we  was  in,  you  under- 
stand—  Johnsburg,  Virginia.  Well,"  continued  old 
Bassett,  "  I  lit  into  that  tavern  fast,  'n'  just  then 
smash  went  a  shell  in  the  street.  Killed  six  men. 
Then  I  lit  in  faster.  Got  into  the  bar-room,  ker-bang 
came  another.  Got  the  range  dead.  Gen'l'men,  I 
was  scared,  I  admit.  Says  I :  '  The  cellar's  the 
place  for  me.  The  brave  old  Colonel  can  stay  where 
he  likes,  but  I'm  goin'  to  hide.'  Down  the  stairs  I 
went  lickity  jump,  and  there  I  see  a  candle  burnin'. 
There  I  see  three  or  four  bar'ls  o'  whiskey;  there  I 
see  the  landlord  scared  white,  holdin'  a  glass  o'  liquor 
in  his  hand  so's  to  comfort  himself,  'n'  there  I  see 
also,"  the  story-teller  concluded,  the  "  Colonel  of  the 
Sixty-Fourth  Connecticut,  while  outdoors,  where  his 
sojers  were,  them  shells  was  droppin'  and  bustin'. 
Now,  sir,"  asked  Bassett  of  the  scarlet  warrior,  "  if 
you  wasn't  in  that  there  cellar  to  take  a  drink  with 
that  there  Johnny  Reb  landlord,  what  was  you  there 
for?  " 

In  the  roar  of  laughter  that  went  up,  and  under 
cover  of  which  the  Captain  made  his  escape  from 
the  Gregorian  wrath,  nobody  sounded  better  pleased 


A  SKIRMISH  131 

than  Mr.  Warden,  though  he  kept  his  merriment  a 
little  separate  from  that  of  French  and  the  rougher 
sort,  as  one  might  say. 

"  Dear,  dear ! "  he  chuckled,  when  the  rest  had 
quieted  down;  and  that  dry  little  cackle  set  them  off 
again.  He  looked  more  than  a  little  satisfied  at  not- 
ing how  they  followed  his  lead,  even  Bailey. 

"  I'm  afraid  that  tale  damaged  your  reputation 
pret-ty  bad,  Gregory,"  he  said.  "  Not  much  left." 

"Warden!"  the  Colonel  gasped.  "  Warden  1" 
Then  he  stopped  for  breath,  for  he  was  thoroughly, 
perfectly  enraged,  beyond  old  Bassett's  most  hope- 
ful dream.  That  was  why  his  next  speech  exceeded 
all  bounds,  considering  that  he  and  the  Squire  had 
been  friends  all  their  lives. 

"  If  you  think  that  the  trumped-up  yarns  of  an 
old  renegade  rascal  can  injure  me  in  the  eyes  of 
Kingsford,  sir,  I'd  like  your  judgment  on  your  own 
status,  sir,  after  yesterday's  performance.  We 
thought  you  were  our  leadin'  citizen;  we  reckoned 
you'd  be  man  enough  to  block  off  your  rebels  at  every 
turn ;  but  you  backed  down  the  first  chance  you  had. 
Now,  sir,  can  you  tell  me  why?  Afraid  of  some- 
thing? " 

"  We  won't  discuss  it,"  replied  the  Squire,  with 
great  indifference. 

"  I  want  to  know." 

"  In  good  time,"  said  Mr.  Warden,  shortly,  still 
smiling  gamely.  "  I'm  sorry  if  I  teased  you, 
Gregory.  Shall  we  be  going  ?  " 


132  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  Good-bye,"  called  French  from  his  perch  on  the 
cracker  boxes.  "  You're  going  to  lose,  old  man. 
You  showed  good  sense,  backin'  down,  /  say.  Also 
the  right  feelin'.  Let  me  tell  you,  I  — " 

"  Come  on,  for  Heaven's  sake,"  interjected  the  Col- 
onel. "  Haven't  you  had  enough  for  one  day  ?  " 

"  More'n  enough.  But  that  old  rascal  Bassett !  " 
laughed  Mr.  Warden  gently,  but  so  that  everybody 
heard.  "  I  can't  help  chuckling  when  I  think  of 
him.  A  joke  on  the  Colonel  — " 

"  And  five  dollars  out  of  you,  for  that  matter !  " 

"  Five  dollars ! "  echoed  the  Squire  blithely. 
"  Dear  me,  I'm  afraid  I'm  what  they  call  an  easy 
mark." 


A    FLANK    ATTACK 

FROM  that  day  forth  Captain  Bassett  received 
the  freedom  of  the  town.  Anybody  could  see 
with  half  an  eye  that  he  was  entirely  un- 
worthy of  that  honor,  Kingsford  being  a  most  re- 
spectable village  and  proud  of  being  so  to  boot;  but 
from  Squire  Warden  down  the  various  subtle  grades 
of  society  received  the  old  fellow  with  open  arms. 
Following  Grey,  the  painters  hailed  him  with  delight, 
and  spent  hours  making  studies  of  his  wicked  old 
head;  and  even  the  gentry  (except  Colonel  Gregory, 
who  continued  unappeased)  enjoyed  starting  him  on 
one  of  his  magnificent  lies  about  the  ships  and  the 
women  and  the  battalions  he  had  commanded.  But 
most  of  his  time,  of  which  he  had  a  vast  stock,  he 
spent  in  the  company  of  the  striking  mill-hands,  for 
some  reason  which  the  patient  and  imaginative  gossips 
tried  to  figure  out  in  vain.  Not  so  French  and  his 
friends  however.  For  them  it  sufficed  that  the  Cap- 
tain should  declaim  frankly  piratical  sentiments  con- 
cerning Mr.  Warden  in  particular  and  rich  men  in 
general,  all  of  whom,  according  to  the  Captain,  were 
thieves  imperfectly  disguised.  And  it  was  not  two 
days  after  his  triumphant  advent  into  Kingsford  so- 

133 


134  THE  UPPER  HAND 

ciety  that  he  was  advising  the  strikers  what  to  do  in 
this  or  that  projected  line  of  action,  so  intimate  had 
they  become.  A  week  later  they  were  appealing  to 
him  as  an  oracle. 

"  You  don't  know  what  to  do?  "  he  asked  in  ap- 
parent surprise  one  day  when  the  revolutionists  had 
met  as  usual  at  the  Eagle  Hotel  and  as  usual  talked 
without  much  coming  of  it.  "  I'm  afraid  you  ain't 
very  smart  men.  Ain't  that  so,  Mr.  Hooker?  " 

"  What'd  you  have  'em  try  ? "  the  landlord  re- 
plied, countering  gently,  for  the  Captain  had  proved 
too  good  a  customer  to  risk  offending. 

"  Mind  you,  /  hain't  any  interest  in  this  thing," 
the  other  warned  them.  "  If  I  have  any  advice  for 
you  —  but  no,  I  guess  I  won't  say  it.  You'd  balk 
prob'ly." 

"  We  wouldn't  neither,  Cap'n." 

"  Sure?"  Bassett  puffed  at  his  frayed  cigar  till 
it  nearly  burst  into  flame.  "  Of  course,  I  don't  really 
know  much  about  the  case,  boys." 

They  were  eager  enough  by  now.  They  were  fast 
on  the  hook;  and  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  draw  them 
ashore  like  so  many  bullpouts. 

"  When  you've  got  a  man  down,"  he  explained 
modestly,  "  you  punch  him ;  you  finish  him  so  there 
ain't  any  fight  left  in  him.  Understand?  Now 
Warden's  partly  beat  anyhow.  Mind  you,"  he  in- 
sisted, "  I  like  him  myself.  He's  been  kind  to  the 
poor  stranger.  I'm  only  talkin'  's  though  I  was  one 
o*  you.  But  when  your  man's  down,  you'd  oughter 


A  FLANK  ATTACK  135 

punch  him,  boys.     I  tell  you  that  as  a  veteran  of 
many  battles  public  and  private." 

"  We'd  like  to  punch  him  all  right,"  French 
laughed  noisily,  a  little  ill  at  ease  in  his  unfamiliar 
surroundings. 

The  pirate  contemplated  the  speaker  at  some 
length.  "  I  guess  we'll  send  you  back  to  work  with 
him,  General." 

"  I  guess  not!  " 

"  Think  so?  Well,  now,  listen,  Senator.  I've 
been  talkin'  some  to  Squire  Warden.  I've  got  a  way 
of  puttin*  a  thing  to  him  —  and  others  —  quite  clear. 
He  backed  down  on  hirin'  the  new  hands,  didn't  he?  " 

**  You  didn't  make  him  back  down." 

"  No,  Commodore,  no.  Of  course  not.  But  I've 
told  him  a  lot  o*  facts  about  you  gentlemen  since, 
judgin'  him  by  that  to  be  open  to  argyment.  /  fol- 
lowed up  the  advanage.  Ahem!  Which  no  one  else 
of  you  did.  Now  the  Judge  here  — " 

"  What  about  me?  "  inquired  French  resentfullly. 

The  Captain  sighed.  "  I  guess  I  ain't  goin'  to 
bother  about  you  fellers  no  more.  You  seem  kinder 
hopeless.  That  is,  if  you're  all  like  the  —  the 
Bishop." 

Protest  and  rough  apology  came  quick  enough 
then,  and,  after  some  further  preamble,  Captain  Bas- 
sett  dictated  a  letter  which  Hooker  the  landlord  en- 
grossed in  his  most  flourishing  hand. 

"  Reads  all  right,  does  she?  "  asked  the  Captain, 


136  THE  UPPER  HAND 

with  a  fine  air  of  aloofness,  when  the  composition  was 
finished. 

"  First  class.  He  won't  do  nothin'  about  it 
though,"  sighed  a  weak-kneed  member. 

"Maybe  not.  But  'twon't  hurt  nothin'."  The 
old  man  read  the  document  through  again  with  some 
satisfaction,  then  glanced  up  with  a  queer  smile. 
"  The  undersigned,"  he  quoted.  "  Would  you  boys 
mind  if  I  set  my  name  down  too?  Just  as  a  friend  o* 
labor?  " 

Grinning  still,  he  scored  his  signature  blackly  un- 
der the  others,  then  folded  the  paper  and  put  it  in 
his  pocket. 

"I'll  mail  it  myself,"  he  cried.  "Labor's  ulti- 
matum! That's  the  way  to  do  business.  And  now 
we'll  all  have  a  drimk  on  me.  I  like  you  boys. 
You're  all  so  intelligent  after  all.  And  none  of  you 
knows  how  useful  a  blessin'  he  is,  'specially  the  Boss." 

"  You  and  them  seem  pretty  good  friends,  Cap," 
the  postmaster  remarked,  who  crossed  the  ferry  back 
to  no-license  Kingsford  with  the  strikers'  new  coun- 
sellor. 

"  Their  cause  is  a  noble  one,"  the  other  returned. 
"  That's  what  you  said  yourself  just  now." 

"  Yes.  And  they'll  win  out  too.  Hah !  War- 
den a  friend  of  yours?  " 

"  Couldn't  say.  I  never  talked  to  him  only  twice 
—  no,  three  times  —  in  my  life.  When  I  went  to 
rent  the  old  house,  and  —  and  on  business.  And  once 
when  — " 


A  FLANK  ATTACK  137 

"  You  sat  and  heard  him  back  down  on  keepin'  out 
his  old  mill-hands  for  good.  They  say  you  was  there 
all  the  time." 

"  Exactly."  The  pirate  smoked  unconcernedly. 
"  On'y  that  was  the  time  I  hired  the  house." 

"  Ain't  seen  him  since?  " 

"  There  ain't  any  reason  for  my  talkin'  much  with 
Mr.  Warden,"  he  explained  blandly.  "  He  don't 
seem  to  think  I'm  up  to  his  mark  in  the  virtue  line.  I 
ain't.  But  it  don't  matter  a  dee." 

They  walked  on  some  few  minutes  in  silence,  for  the 
road  sloped  sharply  up  from  the  ferry. 

"  I  wonder  how  the  old  boy's  back-down'd  hit 
French,"  Burns  remarked,  as  his  companion  rested  for 
a  moment,  mopping  his  brow.  "  S'pose  he  takes  him 
and  the  rest  o'  the  strikers  back  again,  like  that  letter 
asks." 

"  Don't  know." 

"  It  might  help  the  boy  with  Jean,"  pursued  the 
postmaster. 

"  That  sallow  beggar? "  Captain  Bassett's  red 
face  took  a  purplish  hue.  "  That  half-baked  —  help 
him  with  Jean?  He  ain't  dreamin'  that  he's  goin'  to 
marry  her,  does  he  ?  " 

"Didn't  you  know  about  it?"  Burns  cried. 
"  Why,  he's  talkin'  about  her  like  she  was  some  angel 
or  other.  Took  him  kinder  sudden,  after  she  came  to 
the  meetin'." 

The  Captain  raced  through  his  vocabulary  of  epi- 
thets with  extreme  passion.  It  took  him  some  min- 


138  THE  UPPER  HAND 

utes  to  complete  his  delineation  of  French  as  Jean 
Wilder's  lover,  but  when  the  picture  was  done  it  was 
clear  enough. 

"  You  don't  seem  to  like  the  idea,"  said  Burns,  a 
little  nettled.  "  But  I'd  like  to  know  what  business 
it  is  of  yours  anyway." 

"  You  would,  hey  ?  "  was  the  Captain's  explosive 
answer.  Then  he  drew  a  deep  sigh,  which  seemed 
to  blow  away  his  anger,  and  patted  his  companion  on 
the  back.  "  Don't  get  mad,  my  son.  It's  no  busi- 
ness of  mine  at  all.  Him  bein'  so  yellow,  and  —  and 
Miss  Wilder's  bein'  so  good  lookin',  made  the  match 
seem  kinder  ondesirable.  I'm  fond  of  good  lookers. 
Ever  tell  you  the  story  'bout  me  an'  the  girl  down  to 
Santos?  She  that  was  married  to  the  harbor-mas- 
ter? " 

And  so  the  scene  passed,  for  the  story  was  so  long 
in  the  telling,  that  it  was  not  quite  finished  when  the 
two  parted  in  front  of  the  store. 

"  You're  a  queer  old  boy,"  said  the  postmaster. 
"  I  wish  I  knew  more  about  you.  Look  here,  what 
made  you  get  so  mad  about  French  just  now?  " 

"  Just  talk,"  the  other  replied,  meeting  the  post- 
master's eye.  "  French  can  go  to  the  devil  for  me." 

"  But  he  can't  make  no  eyes  at  Jean  Wilder?  " 

"  That's  for  her  to  say.  And  she's  too  nice  a  girl 
for  her  name  to  cross  the  lips  of  you  and  me,  who 
ain't  virtuous  and  don't  care  a  dee.  Po'try,  b' 
jolly ! "  And  with  that  the  old  fellow  bore  up  for 


A  FLANK  ATTACK  139 

the  beginning  of  the  lane  that  leads  eastward,  leaving 
Burns  to  stare  after  him  lost  in  a  brown  study. 

"There's  something  queer!"  he  ejaculated;  and 
added  with  a  laugh,  "  I  guess  he's  Cap'n  Kidd  him- 
self." 

The  pirate's  motions  showed  less  than  his  usual  de- 
cision. At  first  he  followed  the  lane  along  steadily 
enough;  but,  coming  to  a  bank  of  soft  turf  at  the 
roadside,  he  sat  down  and  took  out  the  letter  he  had 
promised  to  mail.  This  he  studied  over  again,  and, 
even  more  carefully,  the  other  short  note  —  this  not 
signed,  by  the  way  —  which  he  had  written  during 
the  discussion  at  the  hotel,  and  folded  inside  the  offi- 
cial document. 

"  That'll  fetch  him,"  Captain  Bassett  said  aloud, 
grinning  again.  "  Lord,  what  a  good  time  I'm 
havin'!" 

But  still  he  hesitated.  Here  was  a  ready  way  to 
win  for  himself  many  a  good  laugh;  he  considered, 
too,  that  he  was  by  way  of  rendering  his  own  kind  of 
justice.  But  for  a  long  time  he  sat  on  the  turf 
studying  and  questioning,  because  of  what  Burns  had 
said  about  Sebastian  French  and  Jean.  There  might 
be  a  grain  of  truth  in  what  the  man  retailed  from  the 
village  gossip.  He  had  heard  French's  vaporing, 
had  seen  Jessie's  jealousy.  And  granted  the  Squire's 
double  surrender  to  the  strikers,  and  the  wild  possi- 
bility of  Jean's  being  won  by  their  general,  the  suc- 
cess of  those  honest  rebels  would  be  practically  en- 
sured. 


14Q  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  By  dee,  but  his  pride'd  come  down  a  peg ! " 
ejaculated  the  pirate  gleefully.  "  Only  that  there 
French  is  awful  yellow.  Him  'n'  Jean  —  ah !  " 

For  sometime  longer  indecision  held  him;  and  it 
was  with  a  countenance  as  anxious  as  it  was  compla- 
cent that  Captain  Bassett,  retracing  his  steps,  passed 
up  the  drowsy  sunny  street  to  the  post-office. 

This  time  there  was  a  little  group  on  the  porch. 
One  of  the  women  glanced  over  her  shoulder  at  the 
Captain's  approach,  smiled  a  little,  and  whispered  to 
the  others.  Jean  was  there,  too,  very  lovely  in  her 
cool,  frilly  dress  and  broad  hat,  and  the  Squire  also, 
starchy,  immaculate,  his  face  like  ivory  and  silver. 

"  It's  that  funny  old  Captain,"  the  pirate  heard 
Mrs.  Berkeley  saying  as  he  came  up,  hot  and  red 
from  his  walk,  his  clothes  dusty,  reeking  with  the  beer 
he  had  been  enjoying. 

"  Hello,  Warden ! "  exclaimed  Captain  Bassett, 
checking  his  hurry  at  the  foot  of  the  steps.  "  Hot, 
ain't  it?  " 

"  Rather  so.  Mrs.  Berkeley,  can  I  help  you  into 
the  carriage?  "  And  with  not  another  glance  at  the 
red-faced  stranger,  he  turned  away  to  the  waiting 
surrey. 

The  Captain's  heavy  brows  came  down  like  a  pair 
of  thunder  clouds;  he  breathed  hard  as  he  stumped 
into  the  post-office.  The  wheels  crunched  on  the 
gravel,  there  was  a  flash  of  pale,  cool  color  as  for  a 
second  the  sun  struck  the  carriage  and  its  occupants ; 
and  then  beautiful  Mrs.  Berkeley  had  whirled  away 


A  FLANK  ATTACK  141 

both  Jean  and  her  uncle  down  the  long  avenue  of 
elms. 

"  Fine  lookin'  outfit,"  observed  the  postmaster. 
"  Warden's  a  well  kept  old  boy." 

"  Very,"  said  Captain  Bassett.  "  And  he  knows  a 
good  lookin'  girl." 

"  He  don't  make  many  mistakes  of  no  sort,  'cept 
this  strike  business." 

"  Wai,"  grumbled  Captain  Bassett,  "  I  sh'd  say 
Mr.  Warden  had  made  one  mistake  at  least.  Gimme 
a  two-cent  stamp,  please." 

"  Oho ! "  said  Burns,  who  was  pottering  about  be- 
hind the  screen  that  enclosed  the  office.  "  Dropped  it 
in,  did  ye?  " 

"  The  boys  asked  me  to.  I  forgot  it  till  just  now 
—  till  I  spoke  to  Warden.  How  soon'll  it  get  to 
him?" 

"  I'll  put  it  right  in  his  box  now,"  said  the  post- 
master, getting  out  his  postmark  stamp.  "  There  she 
lies."  And  he  slipped  the  letter  into  the  Squire's  box, 
which  was  one  of  the  large  ones  in  the  lowest  tier, 
while  Bassett  stooped  down  and  peered  through  the 
glass  front. 

"  I  seen  you  do  it "  he  remarked.  "  Wai,  it'll 
make  him  sit  up,  that  letter  will.  I  wonder  will  he 
come  'n'  get  it  this  evenin'." 

"  Most  likely.     He  usually  does  come." 

"  Also  I  wonder  how  he'll  take  it,"  mused  the  Cap- 
tain. "  It'd  be  worth  seem'.  By  Hen !  "  he  added 


14)2  THE  UPPER  HAND 

explosively.  "  I  ain't  had  so  good  a  time  since  I 
started  the  life  of  a  mariner." 

Toward  nine  o'clock  that  evening  Jean,  who  was 
sitting  alone  on  the  porch,  was  startled  by  the  click 
of  the  gate-latch  from  the  idle  dreams  that  were  her 
only  company.  Her  thought  had  drifted  to  French. 
She  saw  again  his  mean  figure  and  yellow  face  trans- 
figured into  a  presence  that  was  nearly  noble,  as  he 
passionately  appealed  to  his  followers  at  the  meeting ; 
§he  found  herself  repeating  some  of  his  striking 
words.  She  remembered  the  reports  of  his  work  in 
the  houses  of  the  poor  people,  and  the  two  or  three 
cases  where,  they  said,  he  had  done  real  good.  Just 
for  a  minute  her  fancy  invested  the  man  with  a  kind 
of  greatness.  Certainly,  as  she  had  told  him  that 
night  that  they  stood  together  in  the  rain,  she  liked  a 
man  who  did  things  well.  Then  came  the  memory  of 
his  person  and  his  broken,  eager  voice  as  he  urged  his 
cause  upon  her;  then  the  memory  of  his  ardent  face 
and  confident,  braggart  smile  that  morning  they  had 
met  at  Jessie  Bannard's.  He  had  almost  touched  her, 
and  Jessie  —  "  Ugh !  "  whispered  Jean,  shrinking 
back  into  her  chair,  every  sense  tingling  with  abhor- 
rence. 

It  was  at  that  moment  that  the  gate  clicked,  as  she 
thought.  She  looked  down  the  walk,  but  could  see 
nobody,  the  darkness  was  so  thick ;  nor  could  she  hear 
a  sound.  For  a  minute  she  was  all  attention,  then,  as 
nobody  appeared,  Jean  settled  down  again. 

"  I  wish,"  a  voice  suddenly  remarked  from  the  end 


A  FLANK  ATTACK  143 

of  the  long  piazza,  "  that  you'd  hitch  your  chair  a 
leetle  more  forrader  into  the  light.  If  it's  agreeable, 
that  is." 

The  girl  sprang  up.  But  she  made  no  sign  of 
fear,  although  the  voice  was  husky  and  harsh. 

"  Who  are  you  ? "  she  demanded.  Then,  as  a 
chuckle  replied,  Jean  cried  out  in  quick  recognition: 
"  I  know.  You're  the  man  in  the  brush." 

"  Now  ain't  that  a  pity,"  the  voice  smoothly  re- 
plied. "  I  hate  to  contradict  a  lady.  But  the  man 
in  the  brush  I  most  surely  am  not.  It's  a  wonder," 
it  continued  plaintively,  "  that  you  don't  call  me 
Moses  in  the  bull-rushes.  That'd  be  closer,  too,  come 
to  think  of  it ;  sence  he  was  doin'  some  navigatin'  at 
the  time.  Only  Moses  was  a  river-boatman.  Ever 
see  the  Nile?  " 

"  No,"  Jean  replied,  without  thinking. 

"  There's  queer  sights  in  them  parts,"  came  sol- 
emnly out  of  the  darkness.  "  Also  doings.  But," 
the  man  sighed,  "  so  there  do  be  in  Kingsford.  Will 
you  please  set  down,  and  in  the  light  from  the  win- 
dow?" 

"  You're  the  man  they  call  Captain  Bassett,"  the 
girl  said,  after  a  moment.  "  Now  I  know.  Why  do 
you  stay  off  there  in  the  dark  ?  If  you  wish  to  speak 
to  me  or  to  Mr.  Warden  — " 

"  Who's  gone  uptown,"  the  caller  interjected. 
"  About  ten  minutes  ago." 

" —  Come  and  sit  in  a  chair,  and  tell  your  errand." 
She  tried  to  pierce  the  darkness,  leaning  forward  so 


144  THE  UPPER  HAND 

that  her  lovely  head  came  into  the  mellow  light  from 
the  lamp  indoors.  "  I  don't  think  I'm  afraid  of  you 
a  bit."  With  that  she  resumed  her  place,  and  drew 
her  chair  out  of  the  shadow.  "  Won't  you  sit  down, 
Captain?" 

"  I'm  a-doin'  it  already.  Over  here  in  the  dark. 
And  here  I'll  stay,  beggin'  your  pardon  for  the  same, 
respectful,  by  dee,  and  respectable, —  fairly,  that  is. 
Though  I  ain't  up  to  the  Squire  in  that  line."  The 
harsh  old  voice  betrayed  a  queer  mixture  of  mockery 
and  envy.  Jean  thought  it  sounded  regretful.  For 
a  moment  it  fell  silent,  then  Captain  Bassett  remarked, 
"  So  you  don't  think  you're  afraid  of  me  a  bit?  " 

Jean's  laugh  was  serene  enough.  "  Why  should  I 
be?" 

"  No  reason,"  said  the  pirate  with  a  strange  ear- 
nestness. "  Only  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  it." 

"  I  think,"  she  went  on,  for  something  about  the 
lonely,  garrulous,  old  rascal  made  her  feel  sorry  for 
him,  "  that  I  like  sailors  —  the  deep-sea  kind  —  be- 
cause my  father  was  one,  and  I  remember  having  such 
a  good  time  when  he  took  me  on  a  trip  with  him 
once." 

"  He  did,  eh?  I  want  to  know.  And  you  rec'lect 
it!" 

"  Oh,  yes."  She  hesitated.  "  I  try  to  remember 
all  I  can  about  him,  you  see.  He  was  so  good ! " 
cried  Jean,  "  so  good  a  man !  " 

"  I  take  it  as  how  he's  dead?"  the  man  inquired, 
with  what  delicacy  he  could  muster. 


A  FLANK  ATTACK  145 

"  Oh,  yes,"  sighed  Jean.  "  When  I  was  a  little 
girl.  It  was  then  I  came  here  to  be  with  Mr.  War- 
den. He  and  my  father  were  old  friends."  She 
checked  herself  hastily,  with  a  sudden,  uneasy  sense 
of  having  talked  too  intimately  with  this  nameless  old 
vagabond.  "  I'm  not  afraid,  because  you're  a  sailor 
too.  Like  my  father,"  she  concluded  feebly. 

"  Usually,"  the  Captain  vouchsafed  airily  from  the 
darkness,  "  I've  been  loved  for  myself  alone.  But  if 
you'll  not  be  skeered  of  me  'cause  I'm  a  mariner  same's 
your  Pa  was,  why,  there's  somethin'  gained.  If  I 
looked  like  him,  now,  I'd  be  more  hopeful." 

"  I  don't  remember  him  that  way  at  all,"  Jean  re- 
plied shortly. 

Some  noisy  singing  broke  in  on  the  quiet  of  the 
summer  evening.  It  came  from  up  the  street,  and 
was  a  hymn  tune. 

"  As  usual !  "  exclaimed  the  pirate.  "  There's  my 
friends.  Ain't  they  godly-soundin'  ?  They're  maybe 
expectin5  you  to  come  over,  Miss  Jean."  He  giggled. 
"Be  I  keepin'  you?" 

"  I  think  Kingsford's  tired  of  the  labor  question," 
she  made  answer  indifferently,  "  Sebastian  French  — " 

"  Yes  ?  "  There  was  no  mistaking  the  eagerness 
with  which  he  waited  for  what  she  might  say. 

"  He  thinks  he's  too  important,"  exclaimed  Jean, 
in  a  sudden  gust  of  anger.  "  To  think  of  his  making 
all  this  trouble !  That  man !  He  should  be  put  down, 
I  think.  So  we  could  have  some  peace  again." 

"  Just  let  your  uncle  refuse  everything  they  ask, 


146  THE  UPPER  HAND 

and  the  cause  o'  labor'll  go  on  the  rocks  inside  of  a 
week,"  the  buccaneer  said  crisply.  "  I  know.  I've 
been  with  'em.  I'm  the  friend  of  the  workingman, 
all  over.  And  —  and  you  wouldn't  be  pleased  to  see 
our  young  friend  succeed?  " 

"  He's  the  most  disagreeable  man  I  ever  saw ! " 
Jean  replied.  "  I  don't  like  to  think  of  him." 

"  But  you  —  the  meetin'?  " 

"  I'd  rather  not  talk  about  him,  Captain."  She 
rose,  angry  with  herself  for  having  expressed  any 
opinion  at  all  about  French  or  his  doings,  especially 
to  this  stranger.  "  And  I  must  go  in,  now.  I'll  tell 
my  uncle  you  were  here.  He'll  be  sorry  to  have 
missed  seeing  you." 

"  Think  so?  Well,"  the  Captain  allowed,  "  he  V 
me  have  found  a  good  many  interestin'  things  to  talk 
over.  Say,  will  you  do  something  for  me,  please? 
Will  you  say  once  again  as  how  you  ain't  afraid  of 
old  Leonidas  J.  ?  " 

"  Then  Leonidas  mustn't  boast  of  being  a  friend 
of  the  honest  workingman  —  all  over,"  laughed  Jean, 
as  she  disappeared  within  doors. 

It  was  less  than  ten  seconds  before  the  squat,  burly 
figure  of  the  Captain  pushed  through  the  gate,  and 
made  off  at  top  speed  up  the  street.  He  was  swear- 
ing softly  and  steadily,  only  now  his  remarks  con- 
cerned nobody  but  himself.  "  Why  didn't  I  talk  to- 
ner first?"  he  groaned,  as  he  hurried  along.  "But 
maybe  it  ain't  too  late.  If  only  Virtue  stopped  to 
gossip  somewheres." 


A  FLANK  ATTACK  147 

The  post-office  was  dimly  lit  by  a  foul  lamp  that 
hung  in  the  rear  part  of  the  room  beyond  the  stove, 
and  just  at  the  moment  of  Captain  Bassett's  breath- 
less entrance  there  was  apparently  nobody  about. 

"  This,"  he  whispered,  noiselessly  shutting  the 
door,  "  is  first  rate." 

He  stood  by  the  counter,  listening  with  the  keenest 
attention,  but  Burns's  Emporium  was  quite  deserted. 
He  stooped  to  look  into  the  Warden  post-box 
through  the  glass  front;  and  there  was  the  letter  he 
had  mailed.  The  Captain  sent  a  look  over  his  shoul- 
der, another  into  the  darkness  in  the  back  regions  of 
the  store,  noiselessly  slipped  around  the  counter  to 
the  rear  of  the  boxes.  But  just  as  he  came  into  the 
little  enclosure,  he  was  greeted  by  the  most  malicious 
chuckle,  save  his  own,  in  all  Kingsford. 

"  Well,"  casually  remarked  the  postmaster.  "  You 
appear  to  be  lookin'  for  somethin'." 

"  And  I've  found  it,"  the  other  replied  instantly. 
"  You're  it." 

"  Huh !  What  was  you  lookin'  into  Warden's  box 
for?  I  guess  there  might  'a'  been  trouble  if  I  hadn't 
been  standin'  here  to  keep  my  eye  peeled.  That's 
what  /  guess,  Cap'n  B." 

"  The  trouble'll  come  all  right,  son.  Now,  just 
between  man  and  man,  you  a  gentleman  and  me  like- 
wise, you  couldn't  shut  your  dark  blue  eyes  for  a 
second,  could  you  ?  " 

"  I  guess  you're  a  desperado,  Cap'n.  An'  I  can- 
shut  my  eyes  till  you  clear  out  of  Uncle  Sam's 


148  THE  UPPER  HAND 

territory.  Git  out  thar  by  the  stove  or  the  sody 
fountain,  an'  I'll  shut  'em  tight.  But,  honest,  I 
can't  let  you  rob  the  mails." 

A  step  sounded  on  the  platform  outside.  The 
door  rattled. 

"  For  God's  sake,  give  me  that  letter  I  mailed  to 
Warden,  Burns !  Quick !  " 

"  You  must  think  I'm  a  queer  postmaster,"  the 
other  replied.  "  Of  course  I  won't." 

Then  the  door  opened,  and  Mr.  Warden  came  in. 
He  looked  up,  saw  the  two  men  behind  the  counter, 
and  nodded  to  them  with  a  faded  smile. 

"  Good  evening,  gentlemen." 

"  Same  to  you,  sir,"  said  Bassett.  The  Squire 
unlocked  his  box  and  took  out  his  mail,  which  he 
stuffed  in  his  pocket,  without  looking  at  it.  "  Pleas- 
ant dreams,"  the  pirate  added  gaily. 

"  Say,"  asked  the  postmaster,  when  Mr.  Warden 
had  gone  again,  "  what  made  you  want  to  take  his 
letter  anyhow?  " 

"  Just  wanted  to  change  about  three  words  at  the 
end  of  it.  It  wa'n't  expressed  quite  right.  Labor's 
ultimatum  ought  to  be  handed  to  him  exactly  so,  and 
no  other  way.  But  he's  got  it  now,"  Bassett  con- 
cluded. And  with  no  more  words  he  stumped  out  of 
the  store. 

"  Wish  the  boys  hadn't  let  him  meddle  with  their 
own  business,"  grunted  the  postmaster,  trying  to  see 
from  the  grimy  window  which  direction  the  queer 
visitor  took.  "  I  wonder  why  he  really  wanted  that 
letter." 


XI 

JEAN    GOES    ON    AN    ERRAND 

THE  cool  breeze  off  the  sea  which  had  set  the 
elms  swaying  lightly  an  hour  or  so  after  sun- 
down tempted  French  to  stay  outdoors  on 
his  return  from  the  meeting,  and  after  the  rest  of  his 
oddly  assorted  household  had  gone  to  bed.  Mrs. 
Bannard,  who  was  what  Kingsford  calls  "  a  harm- 
less," had  been  safely  locked  into  her  den-like  room 
under  the  eaves,  where  she  sometimes  raved  angrily 
for  a  while,  but  was  at  all  events  in  no  danger;  and 
Jessie  too  had  taken  herself  off  to  bed  with  a  sleepy 
smile,  and  a  look  that  clung  to  French  lazily  and 
warmly.  Once  she  had  called  to  him  gently  from 
the  head  of  the  stairs,  but  when  he  answered  and 
came  indoors,  she  giggled  and  with  a  little  scream 
hastily  blew  out  the  candle  she  carried.  The  young 
man  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  bare  round  neck,  teeth 
that  shone  between  parted  lips,  and  a  confusion  of 
white  and  pink  clothes. 

"  Sebastian,  you  didn't  see  me ! "  she  laughed  out 
of  the  darkness. 

"  What  did  you  want,  Jessie?  "  he  asked  curtly. 

"  Oh,  nothing."  Silence  for  a  moment.  "  I 
149 


150  THE  UPPER  HAND 

think  I  forgot  to  lock  the  kitchen  door,"  the  girl  said 
sedately. 

"I'll  see  to  it.     Good-night.     Is  that  all?" 

"  I  guess  so.  Shall  I  come  down  'n'  tend  to  it? 
Shut  your  eyes  then." 

"  Don't  bother,"  he  answered,  thinking  to  do  her 
a  service.  "  I'll  fix  it." 

If  he  wondered  a  little  at  finding  the  door  both 
locked  and  bolted,  he  had  plenty  else  to  think  about, 
and  dismissed  Jessie  from  his  mind.  He  threw  him- 
self down  on  an  old  bench  that  stood  under  the  maples 
by  the  front  gate.  For  a  half  hour  he  sat  alone  in 
the  darkness,  when  suddenly  he  perceived  a  woman 
all  in  white  coming  rapidly  down  the  lane.  As  she 
stopped  and  felt  for  the  latch  of  the  gate,  French 
jumped  up. 

"  Who's  there?  "  asked  the  white  figure  in  a  voice 
he  knew. 

"  Only  me.  Great  heavens,  it's  come  true !  It's 
Jean  come  again !  " 

"  Mr.  Warden  wants  to  see  you,"  she  said  briefly. 
"  Will  you  come  right  away,  please  ?  " 

"  And  you,  came  to  get  me !  You ! "  whispered 
French  rapturously. 

"  There  was  nobody  else,"  came  the  cold  answer. 
"  Shall  we  be  going?  But  perhaps  your  newest  prin- 
ciples won't  let  you  be  seen  with  me  in  public.  We're 
liable  to  meet  people,  you  know,"  Jean  said  bitterly. 
"  Maybe  I'd  better  go  alone,  if  you  will  come  after- 
wards." 


JEAN  GOES  ON  AN  ERRAND        151 

"  Of  course  not,"  he  protested.  He  looked  swiftly 
back  at  the  house;  but  Jessie's  curtain  was  pulled 
down  tight.  And  so  the  pair  set  out  along  the  rough 
road. 

He  had  all  he  could  do  to  keep  up  with  Jean's  fly- 
ing pace.-  She  had  declined  the  support  of  his  arm, 
and  hurried  along,  looking  straight  ahead,  edging 
away  a  little  whenever  French  came  close  to  her  side. 

"  It's  you  that  always  brings  happiness,"  the  man 
said  after  a  while.  "  First  you  came  to  our  meeting 
and  —  d'you  remember  what  you  said  to  me  after- 
ward? Then  you  showed  that  you  didn't  have  no 
bad  feeling  when  you  tried  to  help  Jessie  Bannard. 
And  here  you  are!  Ain't  it  wonderful?  " 

"  Please  understand,"  she  returned  swiftly  and  de- 
cisively. "  You  haven't  any  reason  to  think  I'm 
trying  to  help  your  cause,  as  you  call  it,  in  any  way. 
You're  not  doing  right  to  let  those  foolish  men  think 
so.  I  won't  be  talked  about  so.  I  —  oh ! "  Her 
voice  broke  with  indignation. 

"  There's  a  higher  power  workin'  at  the  thing  — 
higher'n  we  can  guess."  The  man's  tone  was  sombre 
and  dogged  in  its  conviction.  "  You've  helped  us 
whether  you  wanted  to  or  not.  And  so  it'll  be  every- 
where!" he  cried,  with  sudden  jubilation.  He 
stopped  short,  and  all  unconsciously  Jean  did  the 
same.  He  was  holding  out  both  hands  to  her. 

"  I  seen  it  in  a  dream,  Jean.  It's  you  'n'  me  that's 
got  to  set  these  poor  workingmen, —  you  'n'  me  work- 
in'  together.  Let's  help  God,  Jean." 


152  THE  UPPER  HAND 

She  set  out  again  at  his  last  words  almost  at  a  run, 
he  following  close  behind  with  some  more  of  his  wild 
hopes  and  promises. 

"  Tell  me  you  will !  "  French  cried.  "  You're  so 
beautiful  'n'  good !  " 

"  You're  not  likely  to  help  your  cause  by  such  silly 
talk.  If  my  uncle  knew  that  you  would  insult 
me—" 

"  I  didn't,"  French  said  passionately.  "  I'm  just 
pleadin'  with  you  to  give  in  to  God's  will."  Their 
rapid  pace  had  brought  them  by  now  within  sight  of 
the  post-office,  which  still  was  lighted  up.  And  from 
the  steps  came  some  rough  laughter.  But  Jean  paid 
no  heed  till  her  companion  broke  out  in  a  fervent 
ejaculation  of  delight.  "  See  how  He  works!  Those 
men  on  the  steps'll  surely  see  us  go  by  together." 

"  No ! "  She  swerved  from  him,  but  he  caught 
her  by  the  arm. 

"You've  got  to!" 

"  This  is  cowardly.     You're  a  coward." 

French  instantly  let  her  go.  "  Afraid  to  pass 
them,  are  you?  With  me?" 

"  I'm  afraid  of  nothing  in  the  world.  Not  even 
you." 

The  men's  talk  broke  up  in  a  chorus  of  exclama- 
tion, as  the  man  and  girl  came  out  of  the  darkness 
into  the  light  in  front  of  the  store.  They  did  not 
stop;  Jean's  look  was  fixed  straight  ahead;  the  men 
caught  only  a  fleeting  glance  at  her.  But  French 
looked  over  his  shoulder  at  them  with  a  smile  that 


JEAN  GOES  ON  AN  ERRAND   153 

was  full  of  triumph,  and  his  big  eyes  fairly  glowed. 

"  The  Squire  sent  for  me ! "  he  cried. 

The  men  called  back  some  confused  answer. 
French  had  passed;  his  words  were  thrown  over  his 
shoulder  as  he  hurried  along. 

"  And  she  came  herself  to  get  me ! " 

It  was  as  though  the  young  man  was  proclaiming 
the  victory  of  his  whole  life. 

While  Jean  had  gone  on  her  errand  to  French, — 
and  how  bitter  that  duty  was  for  her  the  Squire 
could  well  understand  —  he  was  sitting  with  Colonel 
Gregory.  The  good  soldier  was  too  old  a  friend  to 
allow  himself  to  be  troubled  by  Mr.  Warden's  vaga- 
ries, though  they  certainly  were  hard  to  overlook. 
And  it  was  because  Mrs.  Gregory  had  given  vent  to 
some  remarks  about  the  decline  of  the  proper  spirit 
among  New  England  gentlemen  in  general  that  the 
Colonel  had  stormed  over  to  his  neighbor's  in  just  the 
half  hour  when  the  Squire  had  no  desire  to  see  him. 

They  sat  indoors,  though  the  night  was  beautiful. 
From  the  dining  room  the  front  door  was  invisible. 
The  Squire  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table  where  he 
could  command  the  hall,  and  all  the  time  the  Colonel 
was  talking,  his  pale  eyes  wandered  from  his  guest's 
face  to  the  open  door.  For  company's  sake  he  had 
opened  a  bottle  of  madeira, —  about  the  last  of  the 
little  stock  some  light-minded  Warden  grandfather 
had  laid  down  in  the  old  days  of  Kingsford  deep-sea 
trade. 

"  Well,"  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  "  that  is  a  wine ! " 


154  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  So  they  tell  me.  But  you've  got  to  begin  young 
to  understand  such  things,"  returned  the  other,  rais- 
ing his  eyebrows  at  his  old  friend. 

"  Confess,  though,  that  I've  had  more  fun  than 
you,  Warden ! " 

"  Yes,  yes.     Much  more.     My  life's  pretty  quiet." 

"  All  the  same,  you've  managed  to  give  us  a  good 
deal  of  excitement  just  lately,  you  old  rascal.  Con- 
found it,  I  didn't  mean  to  say  a  single  word  on  that 
subject." 

"  Your  very  good  health,"  said  the  Squire,  filling 
and  sipping  from  his  glass. 

"  Yours,  sir !  "  Colonel  Gregory  was  a  bit  more 
flushed  than  common,  and  his  eyes  were  very  bright. 
"  And  damn  all  rebels,  sir !  " 

Mr.  Warden  studied  for  a  moment  the  grain  of 
the  mahogany  table;  then  glanced  over  his  shoulder 
out  of  the  open  window  and  seemed  to  listen. 

"  Was  that  a  toast,  Gregory  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  be  rude,  old  man.     I  — " 

"  Was  that  a  toast  for  me  to  drink,  I  say  ?  " 

The  Colonel  gabbled  incoherently. 

"  Damn  all  rebels !  Especially,"  said  Mr.  War- 
den, leaning  forward  as  he  set  down  his  glass,  "  those 
in  Kingsford."  Then  he  sat  up  straight  to  meet  his 
friend's  puzzled,  delighted  smile. 

"  You  mean  that,  Warden  ?  " 

A  nod  for  an  answer,  followed  by  a  second  quick 
glance  out  the  window  as  a  puff  of  wind  made  the 
shade  rattle. 


JEAN  GOES  ON  AN  ERRAND   155 

"  But  —  but  the  back-down  ?  We're  in  the  thick 
of  it  now,  you  know.  So  you  really  didn't  mean  to 
encourage  those  cussed  strikers?  " 

"  If,"  replied  Mr.  Warden,  "  hating  could  kill 
everybody  connected  with  the  strikers,  mine'd  have 
done  for  'em  long  ago." 

"  Thank  the  Lord  for  that! "  cried  Colonel  Greg- 
ory. "  But  no  more  queer  doings,  old  man !  Prom- 
ise, confound  you ! "  the  Colonel  laughed,  though  he 
looked  too  eager  for  laughter.  There  came  the 
sound  of  the  front  door  opening.  "  Promise ! "  he 
insisted. 

But  Mr.  Warden  rose  and  pushed  back  his  chair. 
A  rustle  of  skirts  came  along  the  hall. 

"  Who's  there?  "  he  asked  sharply.     "  Jean?  " 

The  girl's  face  was  pale  as  death,  and  her  eyes 
were  hard  and  bright. 

"  Jean !  "  exclaimed  the  Colonel.  "  What's  wrong, 
child?" 

She  smiled,  but  the  gaiety  that  played  across  her 
face  was  not  her  own  sunny  sort.  "  It's  only  a 
friend  of  my  uncle's  come  to  call  —  better  late  than 
never,"  she  announced.  "  Uncle  — ?  " 

"  Who,"  he  asked,  his  voice  singularly  light,  "  did 
you  say  wished  to  see  me?  " 

"  It's  the  famous  Mr.  French,"  replied  the  girl, 
with  a  flourish. 

"Tell  him—" 

"  You    won't    see    the    fellow ! "    shouted    Colonel 


156  THE  UPPER  HAND 

Gregory  hotly.  "  It  won't  do,  Warden."  The  war- 
rior stood  up,  breathing  hard.  "  Not  after  — " 

"  Tell  the  man,"  murmured  the  Squire,  with  his 
chin  on  his  breast,  "  that  I  —  I  will  see  him  with 
pleasure." 

She  vanished  instantly;  the  Colonel  came  around 
the  table  and  laid  his  hand  on  his  friend's  shoulder. 
"  You'll  explain  this,  Warden?  " 

Mr.  Warden  crumpled  tight  the  letter  he  took  from 
his  pocket,  as  if  afraid  that  his  guest  should  see. 
"  You  seem  to  trust  me  very  little,  Gregory." 

"  Not  that,  old  friend.  Only  the  times  are  so 
confounded  queer ! "  Again  steps  sounded  in  the 
hall.  "  I  beg  you  to  excuse  me !  "  said  Colonel  Greg- 
ory. 

"  Good-night.     See  you  in  the  morning?  " 

The  soldier  hesitated.  "  Yes,"  he  said  at  length. 
"  Yes.  Of  course." 

And  he  charged  through  the  doorway  that  led 
into  the  parlor  as  Jean  re-entered  from  the  hall  with 
French  at  her  heels.. 

The  young  man  had  freshened  himself  into  a  kind 
of  nondescript  neatness.  But,  shaved  and  brushed 
as  he  was,  fine  as  were  his  eyes  and  brow,  he  looked 
mean  enough  in  the  presence  of  the  starchy  old  man 
standing  there  at  the  head  of  the  table. 

"  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Mr.  Warden 
slowly. 

"  Thank  you."  The  reformer  was  still  standing. 
It  seemed  even  to  the  champion  of  democracy  quite 


JEAN  GOES  ON  AN  ERRAND    157 

necessary  to  wait  the  old  man's  invitation  to  a  chair. 

"You  have  come — ?"  he  began  at  length,  when 
French  had  disposed  himself. 

"  It  was  about  our  letter  that  you  wanted  to  talk? 
Just  received?  " 

"  Yes  —  Sebastian."  He  laughed  oddly.  "I  — 
I've  been  considering  what  the  boys  ask  here  for  some 
time,  you  see.  I  —  they  must  understand  that  I'm 
quite  well  disposed  toward  them.  Quite,  quite,  quite, 
quite.  This  letter  now !  " 

The  enclosure  dropped  to  the  floor,  and  Mr.  War- 
den pounced  on  it  like  a  hawk,  too  quickly  for  French 
to  aid  him  in  its  recovery.  Once  more  he  read  it  be- 
fore cramming  it  deep  in  his  pocket  again. 

"  You  really  believe,  sir,  that  we  workers  have  some 
right  on  our  side  ?  " 

"  Some,"  he  admitted,  seeming  to  have  in  his  mind 
certain  obscure  distinctions.  "  Some  right,  you 
know.  Living  wages,  you  understand.  Does  that 
old  Bassett  fellow  still  train  with  you  boys  ?  " 

"  Not  to  their  good,"  French  replied  rather  short- 
ly. "  He's  taught  too  many  of  'em  how  to  drink, 
sir." 

"Possible?  But  he's  a  very  agreeable  man. 
Kindly  remember  me  to  him  when  you  see  him.  I 
don't  meet  him  often,  you  see." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  So,"  the  old  gentlemen  asked  after  a  long  pause, 
"  I  am  to  take  back  my  boys  on  their  own  terms, 
eh?  " 


158  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  On  yours,  sir,  if  — " 

"  If  they're  what  pleases  your  foolish  union,  or 
whatever  you  call  it?  "  For  a  second  the  fire  flashed 
up,  then  died  miserably.  "I  —  I  guess  we  can 
agree  easily  enough.  And  there's  some  distinction 
in  the  fact  that  Kingsford  cradled  a  labor-union," 
Mr.  Warden  babbled.  "  Will  you  take  a  glass  of 
wine  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  thank  you." 

The  talk  ran  along  on  subjects  less  exciting  then; 
for  some  time  they  discussed  things  and  men  remote 
from  Kingsford,  and  the  old  man  seemed  by  slow 
degrees  to  recover  himself;  though,  still  unlike  the 
man  who  treated  opinions  younger  than  his  own  with 
placid  contempt,  he  was  nervously  anxious  to  agree 
with  whatever  his  visitor  propounded. 

Then  the  end  came. 

"  Most  old  lives  are  very  lonely,"  Mr.  Warden  was 
saying. 

"  Yours  even,  sir?  " 

"  Mine  too.  Yes,  French.  Miss  Wilder  doesn't 
count  exactly.  We  —  we're  fond  of  each  other,  very. 
That  goes  without  saying.  And  she's  like  a  daugh- 
ter. But  — " 

"  Then  you  could  give  her  up,  sir  ? "  French' 
leaned  forward  at  his  sudden  question  and  studied 
his  host's  querulous  face,  his  heart  pounding  at  his 
ribs. 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  To  a  man  that  wants  her."     The  words  leaped 


'JEAN  GOES  ON  AN  ERRAND         159 

from  him  without  forethought  "  That's  what  I 
mean." 

"  French ! "  whispered  the  old  man,  as  if  struck 
down  by  a  strong  arm.  "  You  ?  How  do  you  dare 
even  to  think  of  it? "  One  more  flare-up  of  dull 
embers. 

"  I  ain't  worthy,  you  say?  " 

"  Oh,  yes."  His  surrender  was  pitiful.  "  A 
good  enough  fellow,  I  guess.  And  Jean  must  decide, 
after  all.  I  didn't  ever  think  of  such  a  thing.  But 
she  may  be  willing.  You  must  ask  her.  We  —  we 
old  folks  don't  count  for  much  nowadays." 

"  Tell  me  that  you  won't  stand  in  my  way."  If 
French  wondered  himself  at  his  daring  so  direct  a 
challenge,  he  wondered  still  more  at  the  answer  he 
received,  for  though  Mr.  Warden  covered  his  face 
just  for  a  second,  he  reached  to  the  young  reformer 
a  right  hand  that  shook  like  a  leaf. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  French. 

"  Pay  your  thanks  to  some  devil  in  Hell !  D'ye 
think  I'd  give  Jean  willingly  ?  " 

French  drew  back,  not  knowing  his  ground. 

"  Forgive  an  old  man,"  he  heard  Mr.  Warden 
murmur,  for  his  head  hung  down.  "  An  old  man 
who's  likely  to  be  very  wretched." 

This  was  the  writing  on  the  enclosure,  which  was 
burned  in  one  of  the  candles  the  moment  the  visitor 
was  gone: 

See  you  do  everything  French  asks. 


XII 

THE    LEDGES 

TE  atmosphere  was  mellow  and  cool,  the  sky 
full    of   breaking,    lazy    clouds   and    teasing 
blue.     Grey   packed  his  sketching  traps  to- 
gether —  the  narrow  color  box  with  the  names  of  the 
French  and  Flemish  town  scratched  on  the  cover,  the 
light  easel  and  clumsy  umbrella,  and  strode  off  to 
the  Ledges  amid  the  jeers  of  the  idler  members  of  the 
artist  company. 

He  had  marked  for  his  own  the  place  where  the 
narrow  valley  of  a  little  sedgy  river  began  to  widen 
out  into  meadow  and  then  marsh;  where  a  couple  of 
chestnut  trees,  outposts  of  the  army  up  on  the  Ledges, 
looked  across  to  the  distant  shining  of  the  Sound. 
Here  the  painter  set  his  easel  and  fastened  up  his 
panel.  Five  minutes  later  was  singing  lightly  to 
himself,  and,  loving  the  beauty  of  the  world,  he  sang 
like  a  lover  at  his  lady's  smile  and  tender  blushes. 

He  was  working  with  the  utmost  care,  watching  the 
sky  and  his  panel  like  a  cat  —  a  touch  here,  a  line 
there,  a  jump  back  to  see  clear,  keyed  very  high  in- 
deed, when  a  voice  broke  the  spell.  He  swore  softly 
and  laid  in  another  bit  of  his  heavy  cloud  before 
looking  around.  But  a  whistle  shrilled;  a  riotous 

160 


THE  LEDGES  161 

Irish  setter  came  crashing  out  of  the  brush.  Then 
the  voice  sounded  again,  and  this  time  Grey  turned 
from  his  work. 

"  Ahoy ! "  he  shouted.  "  Isn't  she  splendid 
though ! "  he  added  under  his  breath. 

The  sun  turned  Jean's  hair  to  pale  gold,  and  she 
smiled  the  gayest  greeting.  It  was  a  pleasure  to 
watch  the  agile  grace  of  the  figure,  the  quick  atti- 
tudes, like  a  leopard's  crouch  and  leap,  as  she  sprang 
down  the  tumbled  rocks  by  which  the  hill  merged 
into  the  meadow.  She  carried  her  small  head  daintily 
erect;  and  her  eyes  when  she  came  up  were  like  gray 
stars. 

"  Good-morning,"  she  said,  with  a  touch  of  quaint 
formality  in  her  little  bow.  "  May  I  look  at  the 
sketch,  Painter?  I  just  want  to  look  over  your 
shoulder  for  half  a  second,  and  tell  you  how  nice  your 
picture  is.  I  know  how  you  all  hate  being  dis- 
turbed." 

"  No,  no,"  Grey  protested  hotly.  "  I'm  not  busy 
anyhow." 

The  house  had  been  intolerable  that  morning. 
Jean  had  suffered  some  roughness  from  her  uncle  — 
a  spurt  of  sarcasm  that  burned  like  acid,  and  in  her 
blood  she  felt  again  the  clamor  of  the  gypsy  spirit; 
her  heart  cried  for  the  hills  and  the  free  wind.  Like 
a  child,  she  thought  she  could  be  happy  looking  east- 
ward from  the  Ledges  out  toward  the  sea.  Now 
she  had  chanced  on  the  man  whose  talk  could  be  vital, 
and  whose  life  linked  her  to  the  big  world  of  men  and 


162  THE  UPPER  HAND 

women.  Small  wonder  that  Jean  needed  only  a  little 
persuasion  to  linger,  and  that  she  stayed  two  long 
hours,  listening  while  he  told  her  of  Paris  and  Al- 
giers. 

She  was  sweet  to  see,  lying  propped  on  her  elbow, 
or  half  sitting  against  the  mossy  boulder,  her  beauty 
changing  like  the  day  from  bright  to  cool.  Sweet 
too  was  her  pity  and  sympathy,  sweet  as  her  anger 
was  swift  at  some  other  tale  of  wrong  or  cruelty. 
Grey  found  that  she  interested  him  hugely  —  this 
young  lady  of  quality  whose  heart  was  full  of  fire, 
this  lithe  beauty,  whose  home  all  her  life,  save  for  a 
year  or  so  at  the  famous  school,  had  been  a  corner 
of  Kingsford  village. 

"  But  you  mustn't  stop  painting,"  said  Jean,  with 
sudden  concern. 

Grey  laughed.  Insensibly  he  had  come  to  look 
more  at  her  than  at  tones  and  values;  and  now  he 
deliberately  laid  down  his  palette  and  brushes. 

"  It's  as  good  as  done,"  he  declared.  "  Any  more 
work  would  spoil  it." 

"I  didn't  disturb  you?" 

"  Nonsense !  "  But  he  could  hardly  tell  the  truth. 
"  If  I  hadn't  wanted  you,  I  should  have  said  so." 

She  seemed  not  much  reassured;  but  looked  at  him 
with  troubled  eyes. 

"  I  mean  it,"  said  Grey.  "  And  you're  not  going 
to  leave  me  now?  I  tell  you,"  he  went  on,  kindling 
with  a  new  thought,  "  stay  out  and  have  lunch  with 
me.  I'm  on  an  all  day's  trip.  Up  on  the  Ledges. 


THE  LEDGES  163 

There'll  be  things  to  see  and  hundreds  to  talk  about. 
It'll  be  a  regular  picnic." 

His  eyes  were  eloquent.  She  sprang  up  at  once, 
clapping  her  hands,  and  hurried  his  packing  with 
many  little  exclamations.  This  was  a  real  holiday. 
And  the  fact  that  she  had  run  away  made  more  de- 
lightful the  hours  of  talk  with  some  one  different 
from  the  rest  of  Kingsford. 

The  eggs,  bread  and  butter,  the  cold  chicken  dis- 
appeared. They  sat  at  ease  under  a  great  tree,  with 
the  fair  world  spread  before  them.  Grey's  pipe  was 
drawing  freely. 

"  How  are  things  going  about  the  strike  ?  "  he 
asked. 

Her  bright  face  clouded.  "  Not  very  well,  I'm 
afraid." 

"  They'll  win,  you  mean?  " 

"  Of  course  you  can't  have  heard,"  Jean  answered, 
eyeing  him  doubtfully.  A  little  shiver  ran  over  her. 
"  My  uncle  has  surrendered  again.  It  happened 
only  a  few  nights  ago." 

"  What  now  ?  "  He  made  the  mistake  of  laugh- 
ing as  he  asked  the  question.  Like  all  his  tribe,  he 
found  tremendously  amusing  the  tiny  battle  between 
the  blundering  laborers  and  the  stiff-necked  Squire, 
the  followers  of  French  the  flighty  and  the  champion 
of  ancient  order,  so  he  was  surprised  to  see  that  Jean 
could  scarcely  conceal  her  impatience.  On  her  side, 
the  girl  felt  that  her  heart  would  burst  at  the  mem- 
ory of  the  morning  after  French's  call,  when  her 


164  THE  UPPER  HAND 

uncle  announced  that  the  hands  were  coming  back 
to  work  on  their  own  terms.  Jean  looked  seaward 
with  burning  eyes. 

"  My  uncle  thought  best  to  give  in.  Why,  I  don't 
know,"  she  could  not  help  adding. 

"  A  good  thing !  "  cried  Grey,  thinking  so  to  please 
her.  "  I  wish  Kingsford  had  more  men  like  your 
uncle, —  progressive,  you  know." 

She  smiled  a  bit  sadly.  "  Thank  you.  What  are 
you  going  to  paint  this  afternoon  ?  " 

And  from  here  the  talk  branched  off  till  Jean  was 
laughing  again.  Grey  was  counted  a  stiff  hand  at 
conversation;  and  Jean  could  be  shy  as  a  hawk,  yet 
here  they  were,  fit  subjects  for  the  gossip  of  all  men, 
chattering  away  like  a  pair  of  sparrows  through  a 
whole  day.  Grey's  sketching  was  shirked,  and  Jean 
thought  no  more  of  leaving  him  to  his  work.  For 
one  of  them  could  tell  a  young  prisoner  of  Kings- 
ford  about  arms  and  men,  and  the  other  charmed  a 
lover  of  the  beautiful  by  every  turn  of  her  head. 

But  a  sudden  gust  of  cold  air  and  a  grumble  of 
thunder  brought  the  picnickers  back  to  earth.  At 
the  upper  end  of  the  valley  the  trees  were  tossing, 
the  leaves  turning  to  dull  silver  as  the  wind  twisted 
them  backwards ;  a  little  further  away  the  whole  land 
was  only  dimly  discerned  through  a  veil  of  rain. 

"  We  must  run  for  it,"  cried  Jean. 

Grey  was  catching  together  his  traps.  "  You'll 
be  drenched,"  he  said  remorsefully.  "  It's  a  good 
mile  and  a  half  back  to  town." 


THE  LEDGES  165 

She  sprang  down  the  rocks.      "  Come  along !  " 

"  The  old  house !  "  he  called,  scrambling  after  her, 
cumbered  with  his  box  and  easel.  "  That's  only  a 
little  way." 

She  halted,  irresolute  for  some  reason  he  could  not 
guess.  Some  pale  lightning  flickered  across  the  cop- 
pery sky,  and  made  her  wince  a  little. 

"  It's  the  only  place,"  he  urged. 

"  I  hate  to  go  there." 

"  Afraid  ?     Old  Bassett's  harmless  enough." 

"  I'm  afraid  of  nothing  —  except  lightning,"  she 
replied,  dodging  again.  "  It's  only  fancy.  Go 
ahead." 

And  not  another  word  could  he  get  from  her, 
though  he  was  curious  and  impolite  enough  to  ask  a 
couple  of  questions. 

They  had  to  go  directly  in  the  teeth  of  the  storm, 
now  leaning  against  the  gale  as  they  followed  the 
bare  crest  of  the  ridge,  the  tumbling  clouds  almost 
crowning  them,  again  in  the  deep  woods  through  the 
tangled  grapevines  and  bull-briars  of  the  swampy 
hollows,  hearing  the  wind's  gallop  through  the  trees 
high  overhead.  The  thunder  rolled  louder,  the  roar 
of  the  rain  was  clear  enough;  a  few  great  drops 
splashed  noisily  on  the  leaves  around  them. 

"  Here  we  are,"  cried  Grey. 

Jean,  following  him,  vaulted  the  broken  fence  like 
a  boy,  with  a  glance  first  to  see  her  guide  was  looking 
away,  and  with  a  half  laugh  caught  up  with  him  just 
as  they  came  into  a  bit  of  clearing.  Remains  of 


166  THE  UPPER  HAND 

some  stone  foundations  were  to  the  right;  to  the  left 
a  well  curb,  recently  repaired;  and  just  ahead  stood 
Captain  Bassett  cheering  them  on  with  many  ges- 
tures, from  the  doorway  of  a  weather-beaten  ancient 
house. 

"  *  Lift  up  your  heads,  O  ye  gates ! '  "  he  cried, 
"  '  And  the  King  of  Glory  shall  come  in  ' —  also  the 
Queen.  It's  going  to  be  a  dee  of  a  shower,  with  the 
young  lady's  permission." 

They  charged  in,  laughing  and  exclaiming,  just  in 
time,  for  the  rain  came  in  a  rush  and  a  roar,  and  the 
lightning  flared  incessantly. 

It  was  a  poor  place,  but,  oddly  enough,  scrupu- 
lously clean.  In  a  corner  stood  a  cot  bed  neatly 
made  up,  the  piece  of  carpet  lay  exactly  square  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  and  through  the  open  door 
which  led  to  a  kitchen  there  showed  rows  of  canned 
provisions  ranged  precisely  on  a  couple  of  shelves, 
while  below  them  cooking  utensils  hung  on  hooks, 
nicely  graded  in  size  from  a  big  broiler  down  to  a 
corkscrew.  Over  the  chimneypiece  was  a  print  of  the 
familiar  group  of  Lincoln  and  the  Union  captains, 
flanked  right  and  left  by  two  heavy  revolvers  in 
holsters.  Two  or  three  chairs  —  one  deep  and  cush- 
ioned —  completed  the  furnishing, —  these  and  a  lit- 
tle table  piled  high  with  novels  and  newspapers. 

"  Small  but  complete,  just  like  my  old  steamer 
Barham  Hall,"  commented  the  Captain,  with  a  sweep 
of  his  hand.  "  It  was  me  and  that  vessel  as  made 
possible  a  revolution.  It  was  in  Nicaragua,  that 


THE  LEDGES  167 

was,"  he  continued  easily,  "  and  a  dee  fine  revolution 
too." 

"  Was  that  on  the  same  cruise  that  you  helped  the 
Captain-General's  niece  to  elope  from  Havana?  " 

"  The  same  year"  came  the  ready  correction. 
"  Just  before  the  Hayti  business.  Ever  tell  you 
about  that  ?  "  A  vivid  flame  and  ripping  crash  filled 
the  outside  world.  "  My  soul,  but  that  struck  near 
us!  And  now  we'll  all  have  a  drink." 

Jean's  eyes  asked  some  question  of  Grey,  to  which 
he  replied  by  pointing  out  to  the  rain.  She  nodded 
acquiescence,  and  sat  back  in  her  chair,  but  was  evi- 
dently ill  at  ease  and  eager  to  be  gone.  Indeed  the 
old  man's  demeanor  was  hardly  reassuring.  He  had 
evidently  been  drinking  already,  and  now  poured  out 
for  Grey  and  himself  two  huge  measures  from  a  bot- 
tle of  gin,  and  then  a  third  which,  on  Jean's  refusing, 
he  drained  on  the  heels  of  the  other.  And  all  the 
time  he  kept  his  dreadful  red  eyes  full  on  the  girl. 

"  Your  health  and  good  fortune,  young  lady ! " 
he  exclaimed,  with  many  nods  and  winks.  "  We'll 
see  that  things  come  right  in  the  end.  It's  our 
secret.  We  won't  tell.  Not  even  Grey." 

"  An  old  friend  ?  "  asked  the  painter,  willing  to 
humor  him. 

"Humph!     Well,  we'll  see.     Jean — " 

"  Miss  Wilder ! "  Grey's  mouth  set  hard  as  a 
trap. 

"  Jean,  I  say ! "  The  Captain  brought  down  his 
fist.  "  Who's  a  better  right  to  call  ( her  that  than  me, 


168  THE  UPPER  HAND 

eh  ?  "  Jean  drew  back  from  his  approach.  He  saw 
the  gesture,  and  stopped  short,  shaking  his  head. 
"  Steady !  No,  Leonidas,  no.  I'm  a  foxy  old  coon." 

"  What  are  you  doing  nowadays?  "  asked  Grey, 
by  way  of  diversion.  "  Isn't  it  dull  after  being  so 
long  at  sea?  " 

"  Not  a  bit.  Want  to  know  why  ?  "  He  studied 
their  faces  shrewdly,  but  was  no  whit  discomposed  by 
Jean's  evident  boredom  and  Grey's  mocking  smile. 
On  the  contrary,  the  pirate  —  for  so  he  seemed  — 
sank  his  husky  voice  to  a  melodramatic  whisper. 
"  I've  got  a  ghost  to  talk  with.  The  ghost  of  this 
house." 

Jean  stood  up.     "  Can't  we  go  now,  Mr.  Grey  ?  " 

"  She  knews !  She's  heard  of  him ! "  cried  the 
Captain  delightedly.  "  But  he  ain't  nothin'  to  be 
afraid  of." 

He  turned  from  them  and  plucked  back  a  corner 
of  the  carpet.  There  was  some  kind  of  inscription 
carved  freshly  on  the  planking  of  the  floor.  Grey 
stooped  to  see. 

"  I'm  going,  Mr.  Grey."  And  indeed  she  was  at 
the  door  when  again  the  lightning  drove  her  back 
with  a  little  cry.  The  Captain  drank  again,  this 
time  from  the  bottle. 

"  Ghost  don't  come  out  till  night,"  he  said,  as  if 
to  reassure  her.  "  And  he's  ca'm.  He's  an  awful 
old  ghost  now.  He's  awful  dead." 

"  Don't  come  near  me !  "  cried  Jean.  "  Keep  him 
away,  Mr.  Grey." 


THE  LEDGES  169 

The  painter  looked  up  sharply,  and  caught  the 
pirate  by  the  arm;  but  the  old  man  plucked  himself 
away  with  a  twist;  and  fell  back  grinning. 

"  No  harm  in  the  world,  young  lady.  I'm  just  a 
poor  old  man  of  vicious  habits  —  one  of  which  is 
drink,  the  other  being  generous  and  fond  of  my  own. 
Read  that  there  carvin',  Grey?  I  done  it.  ' Joseph 
Dix,  strangled  on  this  spot  A.D.  I860.'  That's  what 
it  says.  That's  where  the  ghost  lives,"  chanted  the 
old  man.  "  'J?.  7.  P.,'  which  is  a  lie,  for  his  sperrit 
is  uneasy  as  be  dee'd.  She's  heard  about  it ! "  he 
went  on,  levelling  a  stumpy  finger  at  Jean.  "  Only 
it's  nothin'  to  be  afraid  on,  sis." 

She  mastered  herself.  "  Isn't  it  lonely  living  with 
a  ghost,  Captain  ?  " 

"  I  love  it,"  he  replied  unctuously. 

They  all  fell  to  a  silence,  the  visitors  staring  curi- 
ously —  even  Jean  —  at  the  inscription  on  the  floor. 
The  letters,  cut  deep,  showed  bright  in  the  pale  yel- 
low of  the  fresh  wood.  Captain  Bassett  seemed  un- 
able to  take  his  eyes  from  Jean ;  a  kind  of  benignity 
was  behind  them  —  no  hint  of  rudeness ;  and  at  the 
same  time  it  was  plain  that  the  man  was  under  an 
intense  strain  of  some  kind.  His  flightly  talk  and 
extravagant  gestures  seemed  to  relieve  him,  for  after 
a  moment's  quiet,  during  which  he  painfully  replaced 
the  carpet,  the  Captain  broke  out  in  a  round  oath 
and  announced  that  he  had  something  else  to  show 
them. 


170  THE  UPPER  HAND 

Grey  looked  for  Jean's  permission,  when  the  Cap- 
tain made  his  proposal. 

"  It  may  be  amusing  after  all,"  she  whispered, 
while  their  host  was  gone  for  candle  and  matches. 
"  And  we  can't  decline  exactly,  for  the  old  thing 
means  well." 

He  liked  her  the  more  for  her  answer,  for  many  a 
girl  would  quite  fail  when  it  was  a  question  of  follow- 
ing this  venerable  vagabond  to  his  secret  lair,  no 
matter  what  the  fun  might  be.  But  Jean  merely 
picked  up  her  skirts  and  followed  him,  her  breath 
coming  just  a  little  faster,  down  a  dusty,  rickety 
flight  of  steps  to  a  little  cellar  under  the  kitchen. 

"  They  call  me  Captain  Kidd  up  the  street,"  said 
their  host  thickly.  "  Le'  me  show  you  somethin'. 
Hold  the  light,  young  lady." 

Jean  took  the  candle  mechanically,  and  was  aware 
that  in  the  half  darkness  Grey  was  standing  so  close 
to  her  that  her  shoulder  touched  his  arm.  But  she 
stood  fast,  watching  the  old  man  with  wide  eyes. 

The  Captain  waved  his  hand,  then  started  out  from 
the  foot  of  the  steps  and  with  one  hand  touching  the 
wall  at  arm's  length  worked  his  way  forward,  care- 
fully putting  heel  to  toe  as  he  went. 

"  Nine,"  he  announced.  "  Nine  of  my  feet.  Now 
see ! "  He  turned  to  his  left  and  measured  six  feet 
more. 

"  I  could  find  the  place  in  one  jump  with  my  eyes 
shut,"  he  said,  as  if  apologizing,  "  but  I'm  roman- 
tic by  natur',  an'  this  is  like  the  books.  This  is  the 


THE  LEDGES  171 

way  I  done  in  San  Domingo.  Then  the  cache  was  so 
far  in  from  the  big  rock  N.N.E., —  so  far,  then  S.E. 
And  where's  the  boat's  crew  that  helped  me  hide  it? 
Rottin'  on  the  beach,  where  I  shot  'em  down." 

"  Oh ! "  from  Grey.  The  candlelight  showed  him 
grinning.  The  old  man  saw  it,  and  his  bushy  brow 
came  down. 

"  This  is  for  Jean.  You  can  look  or  not.  If  you 
tell  about  this,  I'll  kill  you." 

"So  serious?" 

"  If  you  hadn't  come  with  Jean,  you'd  never  see  it. 
But  I  guess  I  want  you  for  witness."  His  excite- 
ment fairly  shook  him.  He  was  sweating  profusely, 
and  he  dashed  the  moisture  from  his  eyes.  "  Now 
look." 

He  tilted  up  and  rolled  aside  an  old  cask,  then, 
with  a  trowel  which  he  had  brought  along,  com- 
menced digging  furiously  in  the  soft  earth  of  the 
cellar  door. 

"  Laugh,  will  you  ?  "  he  cried,  peering  up  at  them 
through  his  dim  eyes.  "  I'm  just  an  old  lyin*  rascal, 
eh?" 

His  hoarse  voice  was  truly  terrifying,  but  not  so 
much  as  his  manner,  for  he  went  at  his  task  like  one 
digging  for  a  friend  who  was  buried  alive,  cursing 
softly  the  while  and  growling  like  a  savage  dog 
over  some  ancient  feud  they  could  not  understand. 
Presently  he  stopped.  The  trowel  struck  something 
hard. 

"  Jean  must  see ! " 


112  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  It's  a  treasure  chest  ? "  she  hazarded.  Grey 
could  have  sworn  that  somehow  she  let  herself  be 
carried  away,  and  really  entered  into  the  scene.  Her 
eyes  were  very  big,  and  her  lips  parted  as  she  leaned 
over  the  pirate's  shoulder  and  threw  the  candle  light 
into  the  shallow  hole. 

"  True,  girl ! "  He  scraped  away  the  loose  earth 
and  dragged  up  a  mahogany  box  a  foot  or  so  square 
with  a  slit  in  the  lid,  over  which  a  strip  of  paper  was 
pasted.  "  Treasure !  Great  dee !  " 

There  followed  the  click  of  a  lock,  the  lid  fell  back, 
there  was  revealed,  scattered  loose,  a  great  sheaf  of 
banknotes  —  twenties  and  fifties  mostly,  though 
there  were  several  of  a  hundred,  and  two  small  canvas 
bags  of  jingling  coin.  Into  all  this  the  old  man 
plunged  his  hands,  tossing  and  fondling  the  rustling 
paper  and  crying  out,  with  a  horrid  laugh,  that  i€ 
was  the  price  of  blood. 

"  A  friend  gave  it  me !  "  he  stammered.  "  Old 
friend,  my  very  good  friend !  Wait,  wait  a  second !  " 
he  went  on,  getting  on  his  feet,  for  now  Jean  hur- 
riedly set  down  the  candlestick  and,  with  a  word  to 
Grey,  was  retreating.  She  halted  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs.  The  old  man  lurched  toward  her  with  his 
hands  full  of  money;  but  he  tripped,  swayed,  and 
fell,  the  bills  showered  about  him.  Grey  gave  a  look, 
saw  that  the  old  man  was  unhurt,  and  then  bounded 
up  the  steps.  Jean  was  already  clear  of  the  house. 

"  Do  come !  "  she  pleaded.  "  Oh,  it  was  so  dread- 
ful!" 


THE  LEDGES  173 

"  I'm  so  sorry  — "  he  began. 

"  You  couldn't  help  it.  But,  O  Mr.  Grey,  would 
you  mind  if  we  ran  ?  " 

And  she  fled  along  the  path  like  a  deer,  with  a 
look  back  every  other  second  full  of  stricken  terror. 
Nor  did  the  fright  seem  to  leave  her  till  they  came 
to  the  fork  of  the  highway  and  she  was  through  the 
bars  of  the  lane  that  led  to  her  house. 


XIII 

THE    PARLOR 

JEAN  hurried  up  the  lane,  with  a  medley  of  the 
pirate's  croak  and  the  painter's  laugh  jangling 
in  her  ears.  She  was  both  frightened  and 
happy.  But  when  she  had  arrived  at  the  lower  end 
of  the  wet  garden,  she  read  herself  a  little  lesson. 
She  would  need  all  her  coolness  to  meet  her  uncle, 
who  would  be  as  savage  as  usual  at  her  playing  run- 
away. 

The  house,  when  she  entered,  was  quiet  and  dark. 
Except  for  the  singing  in  the  kitchen,  where  the  cook 
bore  a  mellow  but  fitful  alto  to  Mrs.  Marsden's  hymn, 
the  old  place  seemed  quite  deserted.  Jean  glanced 
into  the  parlor,  but  the  lamp  was  not  lighted,  nor 
did  a  sound  come  from  the  little  apartment  where  the 
Squire  kept  his  books  and  wrote  at  the  high  old  secre- 
tary. She  was  startled  when  she  came  downstairs 
again,  after  changing  her  dress,  to  find  Mr.  Warden 
sitting  alone  by  the  parlor  window,  staring  into  the 
street. 

"  I  thought  you  were  out,"  said  Jean.  "  I  looked 
in  just  now,  and  didn't  see  you  at  all." 

"  Will  you  sit  here  with  me  ?  "  he  asked,  without 
turning  his  head.  "  It's  rather  pleasant  here  in  the 

174 


THE  PARLOR  175 

dark."  She  assented,  marveling  greatly,  for  she  had 
expected  a  storm.  "  Where's  my  truant  been  all 
day  ?  "  Still  the  gentleness  of  tone,  rallying  rather 
than  accusing.  Jean  studied  his  thin,  worn  old  face 
in  the  twilight.  She  was  aware  how  deeply  he  was 
sunk  in  his  high-backed  chair. 

"  Over  on  the  Ledges,"  she  replied,  unconsciously 
lowering  her  own  voice.  "  I  met  Mr.  Grey;  and  wet 
got  caught  in  the  rain." 

"  You  must  be  wet." 

"  Oh,  no.  We  ran  into  the  —  the  old  house.  It 
was  horrid,  Uncle  Andrew.  Oh,  that  dreadful  old 
pirate  thing ! " 

Mr.  Warden  gripped  the  arms  of  his  chair. 
"  You've  talked  with  him?  "  he  cried  fiercely.  "  Never 
again,  Jean.  I  forbid  it  absolutely." 

Another  time  she  might  have  made  some  rebel  an- 
swer ;  but  the  sordid  horror  of  the  afternoon  —  the 
Captain's  drunken,  grisly  jokes,  the  carved  memorial, 
the  scene  in  the  cellar,  made  her  more  than  ready  to 
obey  her  uncle's  order. 

"  I  was  so  frightened,"  she  confessed. 

"  Did  —  did  he  say  anything?  " 

"  He's  crazy.  He  went  through  a  lot  of  mummery 
over  what  he  called  a  box  of  treasure." 

«Ah!" 

"  What's  the  matter,  Uncle?  " 

"  Nothing.  Did  he  comment  on  your  being  there 
with  Grey?" 

"  No,  indeed.    As  though  he  could !  " 


176  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  And  yet,"  the  old  man  pursued,  half  to  himself, 
"  It  would  only  be  natural  under  the  circumstances." 

It  seemed  to  Jean  that  she  would  betray  what 
glowed  in  her  heart  if  she  cried  out  too  vehemently 
at  her  uncle's  hint.  She  knew  that  her  color  had 
crept  high ;  the  next  moment  she  was  sure  that  silence 
would  also  be  the  stupid  part;  but  the  announcing  of 
supper  relieved  her  embarrassment.  She  had  left 
only  the  surprise  at  her  uncle's  curious  manner — • 
his  outburst  at  the  mention  of  Captain  Bassett, 
coupled  with  his  listless  quiet. 

Through  the  meal  his  eyes  were  never  off  her. 
Time  and  again  it  was  evident  that  he  had  something 
to  say  of  importance ;  but  at  each  pause  in  their  light 
talk  Mr.  Warden,  catching  her  bright  look  of  inquiry, 
would  color  a  little  and  busy  himself  with  his  knife 
and  fork. 

"  Mr.  Grey  was  asking  about  the  mill-hands,"  Jean 
remarked  abruptly  in  the  last  of  these  waits.  "  And 
I  told  him  how  you  — " 

"  Surrendered?  That's  what  you  called  it,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"  Of  course  you  knew  best." 

"  There's  a  great  deal  to  be  considered,  my  girl. 
More  than  you  guess.  And  that  reminds  me  of  some- 
thing." He  laid  aside  his  napkin,  hesitated,  then 
came  half  way  round  the  table,  and  stood  looking 
down  at  Jean  with  glowing  eyes.  The  hand  shook 
painfully  that  he  rested  on  the  back  of  a  chair.  "  I 


THE  PARLOR  177 

—  I  think  it  possible  that  Sebastian  French  may  be 
here  again  this  evening." 

Jean  scarcely  heard  her  guardian's  words;  all  she 
noticed  was  the  agitation  of  the  man  who  usually  was 
as  calm  as  flint  in  winter. 

"  He'll  come  early,"  the  Squire  said  thickly.  "  He 
wishes  to  see  you." 

"  Me?    Why  does  he  come  here?  " 

A  dozen  times  in  the  last  week  she  had  encountered 
the  young  reformer  at  the  post-office,  under  the  elms 
of  the  street,  or  in  the  stuffy  little  library.  They 
had  greeted  one  another  pleasantly  enough.  She  re- 
called vaguely  and  swiftly  the  various  occasions  when 
as  boy  and  girl,  or  as  "  grown-ups,"  they  had  talked 
together.  He  had  sent  her  away  from  a  sermon 
tingling  with  enthusiasm  for  his  cause.  She  felt 
again  the  discomfort  which  his  mere  presence  brought 
to  her  —  the  dampness  of  his  lean  hand,  his  oily, 
heavy  hair.  These  matters  and  certain  others,  swiftly 
recalled  with  a  shudder,  made  Jean  wonder  what  there 
was  for  French  to  tell  her. 

"You'll  see  him?"  he  asked  eagerly,  without  re- 
plying to  her  own  question. 

"  I  don't  like  him,  Uncle  Andrew." 

"  Ah,  but  you  mustn't  say  that ! "  he  cried,  throw- 
ing up  his  hand  as  if  to  shut  out  some  horrid  sight. 
"  And  to  think  that  I  should  come  so  low !  " 

A  swift  instinct  of  pity  for  one  in  such  evident  dis- 
tress, whatever  the  cause,  sent  Jean  to  his  side.  If 
she  could  not  understand,  at  least  she  could  help 


178  THE  UPPER  HAND 

soften  the  sorrow,  the  shame,  and  fear,  which  were 
betrayed  in  the  man's  voice  and  bearing.  She  helped 
him  to  a  chair,  and  he  suffered  her. 

For  a  minute  or  two  Air.  Warden  sat  still,  blinking 
at  the  candles  on  the  table,  and  holding  fast  to  Jean's 
hand.  "Captain  Bassett  said  nothing  about  me?" 
he  inquired  feebly. 

"  Nothing  that  I  remember,  uncle." 

"  I  forbid  your  seeing  him  again,"  he  repeated, 
with  a  touch  of  his  old  asperity ;  but  added,  gripping 
her  wrist  tight,  "  Help  me,  help  me,  Jean !  This 
young  French!  Jean,  he's  a  good  fellow  underneath 
his  roughness."  He  peered  up  fearfully  at  her,  and 
twitched  her  arm.  "  Hey?  " 

"  It's  a  great  pity  that  he  makes  so  much  trouble, 
then,"  she  could  not  help  replying. 

Mr.  Warden  glanced  over  his  shoulder.  The  win- 
dow was  raised  a  little.  "  I  like  the  boys,  really,"  he 
replied.  "  They're  good  boys,  Jean.  We're  too  old- 
fashioned  here  in  Kingsford.  We've  got  to  change 
some  of  our  ideas." 

"  O,  uncle !  "  The  traditions  of  her  whole  life  rose 
up  to  forbid  her  acquiescence.  "  Not  that !  " 

The  door-bell  jangled. 

"  There  he  is  now.     Hurry,  Jean." 

The  parlor  was  a  large  room,  but  French's  long 
body  and  arms  seemed  to  fill  it.  Jean  was  mainly 
conscious  of  this  and  of  the  man's  fine  eyes,  as  she 
entered;  and  tonight  his  dark  face  showed  the  marks 


THE  PARLOR  179 

of  poverty  and  a  deal  of  thinking  more  clearly  than 
ever. 

"  You're  surprised  to  see  me  ?  "  he  asked  bluntly. 

"  A  little.  Though  my  uncle  said  you  were  com- 
ing." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  what  I  wanted  ?  "  The  man  had 
worn  this  look,  all  eagerness  and  doubtful  fear,  when 
he  had  told  her  about  his  dreams. 

"  Is  your  message  so  very  important  ?  "  she  asked 
idly.  She  made  herself  listen  backward  toward  the 
door,  as  though  somebody  had  called  her,  then  turned 
to  the  young  man  with  an  air  of  apology,  which  did 
not  in  the  least  soften  the  tone  of  her  remark.  "  My 
uncle  was  taken  a  bit  faint  just  now;  and  we  had  a 
good  scare.  He's  been  sadly  worried  these  last  few 
weeks,"  said  Jean.  "  Please  excuse  me  for  interrupt- 
ing you,  Mr.  French." 

"  Mr.—?  " 

"  Sebastian,  then." 

"  You've  known  me  all  my  life,  anyway,"  returned 
the  other,  shifting  his  ground  so  as  to  follow  her. 

"  I'd  call  you  Stumpy  French  now,  if  I  dared,  just 
as  the  boys  used  to.  If  you  weren't  the  distinguished 
socialist  reformer  that  we  hear  so  much  about."  She 
was  feverishly  anxious,  she  knew  not  why,  to  keep 
French  from  his  subject,  whatever  it  was.  She  rat- 
tled on,  teasing  and  joking,  so  different  from  herself 
that  she  hardly  knew  her  own  speeches.  But  with  it 
;all  it  was  clear  enough  that  French  simply  waited' 
quietly, 


180  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  We  did  have  good  times.  Oh ! "  sighed  Jean, 
out  of  breath. 

"  I  like  to  think  you  haven't  forgotten  them." 

"  And  Kingsford's  as  dear  now  as  it  was  then.  I 
only  wish  — " 

"Well?" 

"  That  there  were  no  difference  between  us.  Just 
as  when  we  all  went  to  the  little  school."  She  had 
drifted  into  his  intimate  strain  almost  unawares,  and 
the  thought  angered  her  beyond  endurance. 

"  There  needn't  be  any  difference,"  he  exclaimed, 
his  voice  hardening.  "  Why  not  all  work  together, 
Jean?  Laborers  in  one  vineyard.  Let's  make  Kings- 
ford  the  happiest  village  in  the  world,  and  its  people 
the  best.  We  can't  stand  still.  God  don't  want  us 
to,  I  tell  you."  He  caught  fire  from  his  own  words; 
their  light  talk  of  the  moment  before  was  swept  off 
like  dead  leaves  before  a  gale.  He  shook  back  his 
black  mane  and  stood  up.  "  You  believe  that?  Think 
of  the  country  boys.  Their  life  ain't  any  sort  of  a 
life  —  such  a  chance  for  the  right  men !  I'm  young 
and  I  don't  know  much ;  but  I'm  goin'  to  do  my  best. 
My  own  race,  my  own  friends!  There's  my  life 
work." 

"  I  like  to  hear  a  man  talk  so ! "  she  cried,  in  spite 
of  herself. 

"  You  do?  "  Again  he  paused,  and  a  smile  bright- 
ened his  sombre  face  as  he  caught  her  eye.  "  You're 
young,  and  mine's  a  young  man's  work;  you're  full 
of  life  and  courage,  and  the  work  means  something; 


THE  PARLOR  181 

real.  Of  course  you  ain't  against  what  I'm  a-goin' 
to  try  'n'  do." 

"  Surely  not." 

"  Tell  me  that  again."    His  gesture  was  appealing. 

"  You're  finely  in  earnest,  I  mean,"  she  went  on. 
"  And  that's  splendid." 

"  Then  come  and  help  me  in  it ! "  French  cried. 
"  I  want  you  by  me.  Together  —  together  we  could 
do  so  much.  You  know  what  I  asked  you  before.  I 
love  you;  I  want  you." 

"  No,  no." 

"  Your  uncle  promised  he'd  say  a  word  for  me," 
he  said  after  a  moment's  tense  silence.  "  Did  he  ?  " 

So  this  was  what  Mr.  Warden  had  hinted.  Keep- 
ing this  wild  promise  was  the  thing  that  had  over- 
come him  just  now.  The  girl's  cheeks  flamed.  "  Do 
you  think  it  possible?  Mr.  Warden  would  die  sooner 
than  see  me  marry  you." 

The  man  flung  up  his  head.  "  I  ain't  so  far  below 
you  as  that." 

She  made  no  answer.  His  look  was  ugly  now.  All 
the  exaltation  of  the  moment  before  was  clean  gone. 

"  You  think  I  ain't  quite  good  enough  for  you,  I 
suppose.  Well,  I'll  tell  you  something.  Ask  Kings- 
ford  about  your  father.  Just  a  couple  o'  leadin* 
questions.  Don't  pretend  you  don't  understand." 

"My  father?"  She  never  looked  more  splendid, 
though  her  heart  seemed  to  stop  beating,  and  a  sense 
of  physical  sickness  took  away  her  strength. 

"  Whose  father  was  it  that  ran  away  'cause  he 


182  THE  UPPER  HAND 

was  afraid  to  stay  here?  Tell  me  that.  Whose  father 
died  God  knows  where,  'cause  Kingsford  was  growin' 
too  hot  for  him  ?  It  wa'n't  mime.  He  died  poor  after 
the  Squire  had  robbed  him  of  the  mill.  But  he  died 
honest,  Jean  Wilder.  I  ain't  a  criminal's  son.  But 
you  are,  by  the  Lord !  " 

"  That's  not  true !  "  she  gasped  in  spite  of  herself. 
"  I  won't  hear  such  things." 

"  In-deed !  Then  it's  because  you  know  'em  by 
heart."  He  came  up  to  her  again.  She  shrank  from 
his  approach.  "  Jean ! "  he  cried  passionately,  for 
she  had  lowered  her  beautiful  head.  "  I  didn't  mean 
to  speak  so  rough !  " 

She  could  keep  back  her  tears  no  longer.  The  hu- 
miliation was  more  than  she  could  bear  —  this  old 
taunt  about  the  father  she  had  loved  from  this  bully- 
ing,  greasy  suitor.  She  turned  from  him  in  a  tem- 
pest of  anger  and  shame,  to  see  Mr.  Warden  standing 
on  the  threshold.  She  ran  to  him  with  a  cry. 

"  Tell  him  it's  not  so,  uncle ! " 

He  stayed  her  with  his  feeble  arm.  "  Tell  him 
what,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  Uncle,  you  didn't  want  me  to  —  to  marry  that 
man!  Tell  him  you  never  dreamed  such  a  thing. 
Oh!" 

"  I  believe  that  French's  a  good  fellow,  Jean." 
The  answer  was  tremulous,  but  the  Squire  went 
through  with  it.  "  You  must  decide,  dear.  I  did 
not  know  I  was  intruding  on  a  scene  of  this  sort. 


THE  PARLOR  183 

But  — "  he  looked  at  French  — "  the  thing  wouldn't 
displease  me,  if  anything  came  of  it." 

It  was  too  incredible.  Jean,  through  her  tears, 
could  only  look  blankly  from  one  man  to  the  other. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  French  said,  low  and  steady. 
"  But  she  must  choose  for  herself."  A  clumsy  chiv- 
alry gave  him  an  indistinct  light.  "  And  —  and  so 
I'll  say  good-night  now.  Maybe  you'll  think  over 
what  I've  said,  Jean." 

She  saw  something  vaguely  admirable  in  his  pres- 
ent conduct,  and  murmured  her  gratitude.  French 
bowed  clumsily,  and  quitted  the  room;  the  closing  of 
the  front  door  left  her  alone  with  her  uncle.  From 
the  moment  of  his  entrance  Mr.  Warden  had  kept 
his  place  in  the  doorway,  moving  only  when  French' 
passed  him  with  a  muttered  apology.  Only  his  eyes 
were  alive,  which  glanced  swiftly  from  one  to  another 
of  his  companions;  for  the  rest,  he  slowly  stroked 
his  beard  with  a  motion  regular  and  mechanical  as 
clockwork. 

But  with  Sebastian's  going  he  drew  a  deep  sigh  of 
disappointment.  Jean  turned  to  him  with  brimming 
eyes. 

"  What  does  it  all  mean,  uncle  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  That  this  young  man  wants  to  marry  you,  I 
should  judge.  That's  not  surprising."  He  had  re- 
sumed his  familiar  bitterness.  "  It  is  the  penalty 
young  women  pay  for  being  good  to  look  at." 

"  That's  not  what  I  wanted  to  ask.    It's  your  help- 


184  THE  UPPER  HAND 

ing  him,  Uncle.  He  may  be  a  good  man,  but  —  but, 
oh,  Uncle,  isn't  there  any  pride  left?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Mr.  Warden,  slowly  and  solemnly. 
"  Not  a  bit." 

She  recoiled  as  from  a  blow.  "  Is  it  true  what  he 
said  about  my  father?  Is  it  true?"  she  demanded. 

He  waited  till  the  new  storm  of  tears  was  spent 
before  replying;  and  then  he  did  not  meet  her  ques- 
tion. Perhaps  some  of  the  emotion  that  made  the  girl 
bury  her  face  in  an  agony  of  grief  crept  into  his  own 
voice  to  make  it  husky  and  shaky. 

"  It's  —  it's  because  you  don't  understand,  Jean. 
Some  day  — "  he  sighed  again  — "  you'll  learn  why 
I  want  Jean  Wilder  to  stretch  out  her  hand  to  Se- 
bastian French."  He  paused  for  a  moment.  "  There's 
no  chance?  "  The  prostrate  form  on  the  sofa  made 
no  reply.  "  Not  a  word  ?  " 

"  Please  don't  ask  me,"  she  said  faintly.  "  I  hate 
him." 


XIV 

CONTAINS    LIGHT    AND    DARKNESS 

AN  ill-concealed  nervousness  hung  about  the 
painters'  colony.  Without  a  word  being  said, 
all  the  artists  made  for  their  little  work-shops 
directly  after  breakfast.  There  was  long  and  anx- 
ious consideration  as  to  which  were  the  best  pictures 
of  the  year;  there  was  much  despair  on  the  part  of 
the  men  who  painted  by  preference  the  cool  and 
misty  hours  of  the  Kingsford  days;  rejoicing  by 
Holder  and  Byram,  whose  canvases  glared  with  noon- 
day light  or  glowed  with  the  sunset.  From  all  the 
little  studios  which,  like  Grey's,  had  been  improvised 
from  the  lofts  and  outbuildings  in  the  rear  of  the 
great  old  house  where  the  painters  lived  together, 
arose  song  or  sigh.  And  this  was  because  old  Dun- 
can, the  leader  of  the  band,  had  received  a  letter  in 
the  previous  evening's  mail  from  the  famous  million- 
aire who  loved  good  pictures;  and  because  the  day 
bridge-tender,  coming  uptown  after  his  work,  had 
reported  that  the  Gumevere,  splendid  among  steam- 
yachts,  had  anchored  in  the  mouth  of  the  river. 

But  when  Dives  asked  to  be  shown  to  Grey's  studio, 
and  was  reverently  conducted  along  the  overgrown 
garden  paths  to  the  door,  the  place  was  found  locked 

185 


186  THE  UPPER  HAND 

and  silent.  The  potentate  showed  real  disappoint- 
ment. 

"  Of  course  I  shall  see  his  work  in  New  York  this 
winter,"  he  said.  "  But  I'd  set  my  heart  on  having 
a  real  first  choice  up  here  in  Kingsford.  I  suppose 
there's  no  chance  of  catching  him?  Well,  let's  have 
another  look  in  at  Byram." 

No  chance  at  all,  O  Dives!  Your  man  slipped 
away  the  moment  the  coast  was  clear,  though  he 
knew  with  the  rest  of  the  millionaire's  visit,  and  of 
the  Guinevere  lying  below  the  drawbridge.  And 
while  his  brothers-in-art  were  showing  their  beautiful 
wares,  and  with  them  charming  three  cheques  from 
the  deep  pockets,  Grey  was  patrolling  the  Ledges 
north  and  south,  with  an  eye  for  the  end  of  every 
rough  path  from  the  village,  when  it  did  not  search 
the  shining  edge  of  the  world  out  yonder  across  the 
water.  He  knew  well  enough  that  it  was  chiefly  for 
him  and  one  of  his  canvases  that  Dives  had  stopped 
on  his  way  to  Newport,  yet  he  spent  his  morning  a 
mile  from  the  studio.  He  was  thirty-five  years  old, 
but  he  drew  a  sigh  of  content  deep  as  any  mettled 
boy  when  he  spied  Jean  Wilder. 

How  he  had  come  to  be  there,  he  could  hardly 
have  told.  Only  a  few  weeks  before  he  would  have 
been  angry  with  anyone  who  so  much  as  hinted  in  his 
presence  that  between  Dana  Grey  and  his  art  would 
come  another  interest.  Simple  and  straightforward, 
he  would  not  even  have  understood  how  such  a  thing 
could  be  possible.  It  never  occurred  to  him  that 


CONTAINS  LIGHT  AND  DARKNESS    is? 

there  was  anything  for  him  to  think  about  but  color 
and  form  and  self-expression.  The  iron  of  his  art  — 
and  it  branded  deep  —  had  entered  into  his  soul.  To 
Grey  a  man  was  interesting  as  having  a  picturesque 
head,  or  as  a  possible  buyer  to  be  tolerated  (however 
bon  b&urgeios),  or  as  a  fellow  craftsman;  a  woman, 
as  beautiful,  or  commonplace,  or  grotesque.  Morals 
meant  not  doing  anything  mean  or  base,  religion  was 
to  paint  at  all  times  one's  very  best.  Fifteen  years 
of  rigid  exclusion  of  all  that  the  world  means  to  those 
who  are  not  painters  had  done  their  work. 

Perhaps  it  was  for  this  very  reason  that  the  sudden 
change  had  come.  The  starved  soul  cried  out  in  pain. 
The  gorged  intellect  demanded  new  fare.  Grey 
thought  that  he  had  gone  seeking  Jean  on  the  Ledges 
that  morning  in  the  spirit  of  a  runaway  schoolboy; 
just  as  on  the  occasion  of  their  other  meeting  he  had 
turned  from  his  loved  work  to  spend  the  day  with 
her,  first  in  a  spirit  of  idle  amusement.  He  did  not 
analyze.  He  always  did  as  was  his  constant  profes- 
sion, what  he  liked.  Really,  however,  he  was  im- 
pelled to  his  truancy  by  the  restless  cry  of  his  inmost 
being ;  but  if  he  considered  at  all,  which  was  unlikely, 
he  would  have  said  that  he  ranged  the  Ledges  that 
day  "  just  because  he  wanted  to."  The  inconsistency 
never  struck  him,  or  if  so,  would  hardly  have  inter- 
ested him. 

The  girl  was  ascending  a  steep  pitch  of  hill,  and 
so  had  crossed  Grey's  path.  She  was  above  him  and 
to  the  left,  following  a  tiny  trail  through  a  tangle 


188  THE  UPPER  HAND 

of  huckleberry  bushes  and  outcroppings  of  sunny 
warm  rocks. 

"  Where  shall  we  go? "  she  asked  abruptly,  as 
Grey  caught  up  with  her.  "  For  you  can  come  with 
me  if  you  like." 

"  Where  were  you  heading  ?  " 

"  To  the  Look-Out.  Anywhere.  I  wanted  to  get 
away." 

She  could  not,  any  more  than  her  companion,  or 
perhaps  was  afraid  to,  define  her  impulse.  A  tearful 
night  and  waking,  sick  anger  at  her  uncle's  strange 
words  and  acts,  indignant  wonder  at  the  temerity  of 
the  young  reformer,  and  pity  for  him  too  with  his 
sickly  face,  had  left  Jean  eager  for  a  chance  at  the 
open,  quiet  world  with  its  air  and  sky.  But  half  way 
to  the  Ledges  on  this  morning  she  stopped  short, 
awaking  to  the  fact  that  her  eager  eyes  were  search- 
ing every  foot  of  the  landscape  for  Dana  Grey's 
pongee  umbrella.  For  a  moment  she  checked  herself. 
Then  Jean  looked  over  her  shoulder.  If  there  had 
been  a  soul  in  sight  she  would  have  returned  to  the 
village  instantly.  But  nobody  was  by  save  the  cows 
and  the  crows,  and  so,  with  a  blush,  she  lowered  her 
head  and  ran  on,  half  ashamed,  half  a-quiver  with 
delight. 

"  It's  too  beautiful  a  day  to  stay  home,"  she  added, 
looking  straight  ahead,  though  she  felt  Grey's  eyes 
on  her. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  the  painter  replied  with  an  air  of 


CONTAINS  LIGHT  AND  DARKNESS     189 

entire  unconcern.  "  I  never  can  endure  a  roof  and 
walls  on  a  day  like  this." 

"  And  the  Ledges  are  about  the  only  walk  in 
Kingsford." 

"  They  are.    The  —  the  roads  are  so  dusty." 

And  with  these  statements,  remarkable  for  their 
untruth,  the  pair  of  them  won  the  top  of  the  hill  and 
came  to  the  outcropping  of  granite,  from  which  one 
can  see  so  many  miles  over  the  leafy  country  and  shin- 
ing sea.  Neither  of  them  perceived  that  it  was  Cap- 
tain Bassett  who  dodged  into  a  bit  of  thicket  on  their 
approach.  Here,  for  Jean  appeared  a  bit  fatigued  in 
spite  of  her  protests,  they  camped  on  a  bit  of  turf 
to  draw  breath  and  look  about  them ;  and  when  they 
had  settled,  the  old  man  crawled  inch  by  inch  to  the 
edge  of  the  open,  where  he  lay  listening  to  their  talk 
with  his  hand  to  his  ear. 

Jean  and  her  companion  surveyed  a  fair  world  at 
their  feet;  another,  had  they  dared  look  into  each 
other's  eyes,  was  open  to  them  fairer  still.  Of  this 
latter  they  guessed  only  a  little,  and  that  little  only 
what  they  had  seen  alone.  Grey  would  have  denied, 
and  Jean  would  have  scarcely  acknowledged  even  to 
herself  its  shadowed  possibility.  But  stealthily  Jean 
measured  the  lithe,  clean-limbed  figure  lying  at  ease 
on  the  turf  beside  her,  and  hastily  withdrew  her  eyes 
when  Grey  raised  his  head  to  ask  why  she  was  so 
silent. 

"  I  was  wondering,"  she  said  slowly,  "  who  you 
were.  It's  so  queer  to  me  to  think  of  anybody  in 


190  THE  UPPER  HAND 

Kingsford  whose  life  and  family  and  history  aren't 
common  knowledge.  But  the  painters  — " 

"  Are  nothing  else.  That's  the  beauty  of  it.  So 
long  as  I  paint  a  good  picture,  that's  all  you  or  any- 
body cares  to  know." 

"Yes?" 

He  studied  her.  "  You'd  like  to  hear,  Swift- 
foot?  " 

MMffj 

"  Of  course.  If  it's  interesting,"  she  contrived  to 
say. 

He  began  in  a  vein  of  burlesque;  but  before  he 
knew  it  Grey  was  nearly  eloquent.  The  secret  strug- 
gles of  the  old  days  he  had  buried  almost  from  his 
own  knowldge.  But  today,  with  this  girl  to  ask 
questions,  whose  eyes  responded  to  his  every  appeal, 
the  painter  spared  not  a  detail. 

"  I  ran  away,  you  know,"  he  said,  a  little  shame- 
facedly. "  And  my  father  thought  he  had  done  so 
well  by  me.  He  made  me  one  of  his  bookkeepers.  I 
wish  I  could  have  seen  him  again." 

"He  died?" 

"  Almost  immediately.  He  went  bankrupt,  you 
know,  and  it  killed  him.  Never  indorse  anybody's 
paper,  Jean?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  replied,  not  understanding.  "  And 
then?" 

"  I  was  a  reporter ;  I  painted  stage  scenery ;  I  did 
lettering  on  signs;  I  induced  my  only  rich  friend  to 
let  me  design  his  book-plate.  That  gave  me  a  start. 
J  worked  in  the  school  days,  and  tended  bar  nights. 


CONTAINS  LIGHT  AND  DARKNESS     191 

That's  how  this  scar  came  on  my  forehead.  The 
night  part  wasn't  very  respectable,  Jean."  His  voice 
hardened  as  he  went  on.  "  Paris  came  next ;  and 
there  was  a  hard  time.  I  don't  think  I  ever  can  for- 
get that  first  winter.  I  nearly  died  of  hunger." 

"  You,  Painter?  " 

"  Truly.     Also  other  things  happened." 

She  was  hardly  breathing  now. 

"  Have  you  ever  gone  without  a  meal  for  a  day  ? 
Of  course  not.  Well,  at  the  end  of  one  February  I 
hadn't  eaten  a  thing  for  more  than  two ;  it  was  rain- 
ing hard,  and  I  slept  on  a  pile  of  aprons  that  the 
students  left  in  one  of  the  schools.  The  patron  gave 
me  two  francs  for  sweeping  up  each  day,  you  know." 
Grey  laughed  rather  bitterly.  "  You  want  to  hear 
more?  " 

"  I  think  it  was  very  brave,"  she  answered  softly. 
He  would  have  gone  on,  if  only  to  watch  her  profile. 
Her  head  was  turned  to  look  over-sea;  and  he  had 
never  caught  her  in  repose  before. 

She  had  built  up  for  herself  a  thousand  heroes. 
Now  it  was  a  prince  in  ermine  and  purple  who  came 
to  demand  her  hand;  again  her  hero  was  a  cowboy, 
who  stood  off  the  Indians  circling  the  buffalo-wallow 
he  and  she  lay  in ;  he  appeared  —  in  Jean's  rarer 
moods  —  carefully  dressed  in  traveling  clothes,  and 
laughed  with  her  as  the  dainty  bridesmaids  and  jolly 
ushers  threw  the  rice  after  their  carriage.  Once  he 
had  been  a  silken  diplomat  who  showed  her  the  life 
of  courts  and  castles,  brilliant  officers,  and  nights 


THE  UPPER  HAND 

when  the  Tsiganes  set  one's  soul  aflame  with  their 
pulsing  waltzes.  But  these  were  dream  heroes. 
Really,  as  Jean  was  discovering,  he  was  a  man  whose 
strong  face  was  lined  with  sorrow  and  success,  who 
grew  shy  and  silent  when  she  sang  for  him  the  praise 
of  his  lifework  that  all  men  sang. 

"  I'd  give  it  all  for  another  year  of  the  fight, 
Jean !  "  he  cried  suddenly.  "  Ah,  it  was  so  fine ! 
It's  the  fighting  that  keeps  a  man  in  trim.  Out  yon- 
der in  the  world.  See?  Out  beyond  that  schooner. 
I  wish  I  was  aboard  her." 

"  Some  day  you'll  try  it?  " 

"  Perhaps." 

As  is  the  way,  the  two  reverted  quickly  from  their 
talk  of  high  things  to  those  of  their  daily  life.  The 
great  emotions  pain  terribly  when  we  cannot  cry  out 
under  them.  Tears,  the  rough  oath,  the  lyric,  the 
war-call,  being  forbidden  to  this  man  and  girl,  as  to 
all  of  us  that  have  grown  up  in  a  polite  world,  they 
came  swiftly  down  from  the  heights  where  enthusiasm 
and  compassion  and  their  fellows  rage  and  rule 
stormily.  Grey's  voice  choked  once  or  twice,  and 
Jean's  eyes  were  eloquent.  It  was  with  relief  that 
they  heard  the  dinner  horns  twang  out  from  two  or 
three  of  the  nearer  farm  houses. 

"  You  must  go?  "  asked  Grey,  as  Jean  stood  up. 

"  Noon-time,  sir.  And  my  uncle  will  be  waiting 
for  me.  He's  not  at  all  well.  He's  had  a  great  deal 
to  trouble  him." 


CONTAINS  LIGHT  AND  DARKNESS     193 

"  Do  you  know,"  asked  Grey  slowly,  "  how  very 
good  you  are  to  that  old  flint?  " 

She  turned  away. 

"  It's  the  truth,"  he  cried.  "  That  house  is  a  tor- 
ture for  you  every  day.  I  wish  — " 

She  waited  for  him  to  finish,  without  looking  at 
him;  but  the  quick  clasping  of  her  hands  betrayed 
her. 

"  Some  day  it  will  be  over  and  past,"  the  painter 
went  on  in  an  undertone,  as  though  he  was  talking 
to  himself. 

"  Some  day ! "  she  echoed,  with  a  tragic  note  in 
her  voice  that  came  because  she  did  not  think  what 
she  was  saying. 

"  You're  in  some  trouble,  Jean  ?  " 

"  No.  I  must  not  tell  about  it  anyhow,"  she  cried, 
breaking  through  her  restraint.  The  vision  came 
back  to  her  of  a  lank,  black-coated  figure,  awkward 
and  yellow ;  she  felt  again  French's  cold  hand  on  her 
wrist;  she  heard  her  uncle's  gabbling  persuasion. 

"  And  I've  no  right  to  ask." 

The  girl  made  no  answer.  Grey  never  knew  what 
for  a  brief  second  her  eloquent  eyes  begged  of  him. 

"  But  O,  Jean,  I'd  like  to  help  if  I  could,"  he  said. 

"  Thank  you  for  that,"  she  murmured,  lowering 
her  head.  Her  loneliness  mastered  her.  "  I  think 
you're  a  very  good  friend  —  Dana."  She  stretched 
out  her  brown,  boyish  hand  to  him,  gripped  his  hard, 
and  without  another  word  stood  up  and  made  down 
the  hill. 


194  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  Jean !  "  he  called  after  her. 

She  went  on  a  dozen  steps  before  stopping.  Then 
she  looked  back.  "  Till  tomorrow  morning !  "  Jean 
cried,  smiling  up  hardily.  "  In  the  Glade." 

Ten  minutes  later  Grey  was  making  his  way  north- 
ward along  the  top  of  the  ridge,  his  thoughts  whirl- 
ing. This  Jean  who  had  betrayed  a  grief  to  him  — 
Grey;  who  had  exchanged  with  him  the  hand-clasp 
of  friends;  who  looked  back  even  as  she  fled  away 
from  him!  This  Jean,  so  fair  and  so  mettlesome! 
Suddenly  he  heard  his  name  called.  It  was  Captain 
Bassett,  who  came  up,  wearing  his  broadest  smile. 
His  knees  and  elbows  were  stained  as  though  he  had 
been  lying  face  down  in  the  grass. 

"  Heart  o'  gold,  as  the  poet  says,  I'm  glad  to  see 
you,"  he  chuckled.  Something  seemed  to  have 
pleased  him  immensely.  "  Come  along  with  me. 
What's  doin'  in  the  woods  this  mornin'  ?  " 

"  Just  out  for  a  walk,"  Grey  replied.  "  What  are 
you  doing?  " 

"  Me?  I've  been  en  joy  in'  the  ways  of  natur'  and 
the  workin's  of  Providence,"  he  laughed.  "  Humph ! 
What  about  the  money-king  as  is  in  town  to  see  the 
artists  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"  He's  got  to  call  again,  that's  all." 

"  Shiftless  but  lovable !  Just  like  Leonidas  J.  Bas- 
sett. Only  not  so  old,  and  more  virtuous.  /  know, 
or  at  least  I  hope  —  under  present  circumstances." 

"You  don't  say  so!" 

The  Captain  laughed  again,  long  and  loud.  "  Just 


CONTAINS  LIGHT  AND  DARKNESS    195 

the  same  as  me,  boy.  And  I  wish  you  success;  may 
you  grow  more  like  me  and  not  less.  Po'try  again! 
But  I  can't  help  it,  and  I  won't.  Say,  that  was  a 
nice  call  you  and  Jean  —  Miss  Wilder  —  paid  me. 
It's  a  pity  I  fainted  away.  I  enjoyed  seein'  the  two 
of  you  together." 

"  You  were  drunk  as  an  owl  and  most  disreputable, 
good  sir." 

The  Captain  sighed.  "  I  ain't  never  been  well 
since  I  was  on  the  old  Hartford.  '  Damn  the  torpe- 
does,' says  Farragut,  but  let  me  tell  you,  them  Rebels 
fired  awful  hard  and  straight.  I  was  pilot,  you 
know,  and  a  dee  easy  mark." 

"  So  I've  heard." 

"  You  have  ?  Well,  I  was  some  brave,  I  guess. 
You'll  find  Pilot  Bassett  in  all  the  history  books." 

The  way  was  rough,  up  and  down,  across  slippery 
rocks  when  it  did  not  lead  through  wiry  bushes. 
The  sun  beat  down  hot,  and  the  mosquitoes  followed 
them  in  clouds.  It  was  no  time  for  hurry,  but  Grey 
found  that  insensibly  the  pirate  had  quickened  his 
gait  almost  to  a  run.  He  panted  on  ahead,  but  never 
let  up  for  a  second  on  his  string  of  splendid  lies. 
Finally,  fairly  beat,  Grey  cried  for  mercy. 

"  Sorry,"  the  Captain  flung  back  over  his  shoul- 
der, "  but  I  don't  want  to  be  late.  I've  an  appoint- 
ment. My  landlord,"  he  said,  turning  and  walking 
backward  a  couple  of  steps,  "  is  goin*  to  pay  me  a 
visit." 

"  In  that  case  I  guess  I  won't  go  any  further," 


196  THE  UPPER  HAND 

said  Grey.  "  I  can  turn  down  to  the  village  any- 
where along  here.  We're  past  the  swamp." 

But  the  other  insisted  almost  angrily  on  Grey's 
company.  His  mood  had  quite  altered.  "  It  ain't 
far  now,"  he  urged.  "  It  ain't  fifty  rods.  Say,  I 
want  you  to  come,  if  it  ain't  for  more  than  a  minute." 

The  man  spoke  with  a  strange  earnestness.  Grey 
could  think  of  no  earthly  reason  for  this  display  of 
feeling,  but  because  he  hated  to  disoblige  anybody, 
and  was  a  bit  curious  too  as  to  this  meeting  at  the 
old  house,  he  suffered  the  pirate  to  persuade  him. 

"  Thank  the  Lord!"  the  latter  ejaculated,  taking 
off  his  hat.  "  Remember  you'll  see  us  together,  me 
and  Andrew  Warden." 

"  It  won't  be  much  to  see." 

"  Prob'ly  not,"  replied  the  Captain  mildly.  "  But 
there  do  be  surprises  in  this  world.  I  was  surprised 
not  an  hour  ago,  only  that  was  a  pleasant  one." 

They  had  reached  a  point  in  the  wood-road  now 
from  which  they  could  see,  through  a  thin  screen  of 
trees,  the  little  clearing  with  the  lonely  old  house  in 
its  centre.  The  Captain  peered  ahead  like  a  scout. 

"  Look  at  him  sittin'  there  on  the  steps ! "  he  ex- 
claimed in  a  whisper,  pointing.  "  That's  him.  And, 
say,  I  guess  you  jest  came  up  to  get  them  paintin' 
things  you  left  here  last  week.  Hey  ?  " 

Quite  confounded  at  all  this  parade  of  mystery, 
Grey  assented. 

"  Good  again !  That'll  make  your  bein'  here  more 
kinder  likely.  And  remember,"  the  old  fellow  added, 


CONTAINS  LIGHT  AND  DARKNESS    197 

warningly  and  pleadingly  together,  "  that  you  seen 
Mr.  Warden  an'  me  together  at  twelve-thirty  this 
day." 

He  bellowed  a  hail  to  his  visitor  from  the  edge  of 
the  woods;  Grey  saw  the  Squire  stagger  to  his  feet, 
and  feebly  wave  his  hand.  Even  at  so  many  yards 
the  face,  clear  in  the  hot  sun,  looked  terribly  white 
and  drawn.  The  man  put  a  hand  to  his  head  as  they 
crossed  to  him  over  the  springy  turf. 

"  Sorry  I  was  late,"  Captain  Bassett  began,  with- 
out any  greeting.  He  appeared  flustered  and  em- 
barrassed. 

"I  —  that's  all  right,"  the  other  replied  dully. 
"  I  was  glad  to  get  a  little  rested.  How  are  you,  Mr. 
Grey?" 

The  painter  could  not  take  his  eyes  from  the  old 
man's  face.  Its  granite  lines  seemed  to  have  melted 
away,  as  it  were,  into  chalk  and  wax.  He  had  aged 
terribly,  and  in  so  short  a  time. 

"  I  hope  you  are  well,  sir." 

"  Oh,  yes."  Still  the  dull  tone  and  the  eyes  con- 
tinually shifting  back  to  the  pirate  at  Grey's  side. 
"  My  head  bothers  me  a  little,  that's  all." 

"  Might's  well  set  down,"  remarked  the  Captain, 
nudging  Grey.  "  Here  in  the  shade,  on  the  old  bench. 
So.  It's  hot  walkin'  this  mornin'." 

"I  can't  stay  long,"  the  Squire  objected  queru- 
lously. "  I've  got  so  much  to  do." 

"  A  busy  man !  And  virtuous.  I  wonder  do  you 
admire  this  gen'l'man  like  I  do,  my  boy."  He  gig- 


198  THE  UPPER  HAND 

gled,  turning  to  the  painter.  "  It'd  be  in  the  fam'ly. 
I  guess  you  admire  his  ward  all  right." 

"  Like  everybody  else,"  Grey  replied,  though  his 
blood  boiled.  Still,  it  was  not  for  him  to  forbid  the 
ribald  old  rascal,  when  Jean's  guardian  was  by. 

"  I  think  it  possible,"  faltered  Mr.  Warden  ab- 
ruptly, looking  from  one  to  another,  "  that  I'm  going 
to  lose  Jean." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  I  saw  her  not  an  hour  ago," 
cried  Grey  in  alarm.  The  pirate  grinned  silently. 

"  I  expect  that  she's  going  to  be  married  maybe," 
said  the  old  man ;  and  now  his  eyes  seemed  to  beg  for 
some  sign  of  approbation  from  the  old  vagabond  sit- 
ting on  the  bench  beside  him.  "  Married." 

Captain  Bassett  sat  up  straight,  and  suspended 
filling  his  pipe.  "  Who  to?  "  he  demanded,  with  a 
brutal  oath  and  a  covert  glance  at  Grey.  "  Who  to, 
in  the  name  of  God  ?  Not  French  ?  " 

"  Don't  curse  and  swear  so,  Cap'n.  French  is  a 
very  worthy  young  man.  And  —  and  I  understood 
he  was  a  friend  o'  yours." 

"  French !  "  exclaimed  the  painter.  So  this  was 
the  trouble  she  had  spoken  of;  this  was  why  she  had 
scarcely  been  able  to  hide  her  tears  from  him.  Jean 
given  to  that  lean  baboon !  "  It's  impossible,  Mr. 
Warden ! " 

"What  is  it  to  you?" 

"  It's  a  shame,  sir,"  the  answer  came,  like  a  rifle- 
ball.  "  She  couldn't  do  it." 

"Think  not?     Well,"  said  Mr.  Warden,  looking 


again  appealingly  to  the  pirate,  "  we'll  have  to  see." 

Captain  Bassett,  though  his  face  was  like  a  torch, 
nodded  sagely.  "  I  suppose  it's  what  they  call  fam- 
ily reasons  as  made  you  choose  that  —  that  French?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes,"  chattered  the  Squire,  visibly  re- 
lieved. "  You're  very  discerning.  Yes,  family  rea- 
sons. You  know  the  young  man,  Captain,  I  think  ?  " 

"  He  preaches  to  wake  the  dead.  Likewise  the 
friend  of  labor.  Same's  me,"  was  the  non-committal 
reply.  Bassett  seemed  for  once  quite  at  a  loss. 

"  I'm  glad  if  you're  pleased,"  Grey  interrupted, 
springing  up.  "  But  I'm  very  sorry  for  Jean,  if  she 
accepts  him.  And  she  won't !  " 

"  So,  boss,  so !  "  cooed  the  pirate.  "  You  ain't  got 
very  good  manners,  my  boy.  Guess  you'd  better  get 
them  paintin'  traps  now.  Guess  there  ain't  much 
you  can  do  or  say  'thout  irritatin'  my  valued  friend 
here.  Good  day.  Help  yourself  to  a  drink  there  in 
the  house." 

The  two  old  men  sat  in  silence  till  Grey  had 
emerged  from  the  house,  marched  across  the  clearing, 
and  so  out  of  sight  down  the  wood-road.  The 
pirate  smoked  unconcernedly;  Mr.  Warden  stared 
before  him  into  the  quiet,  sunny  forest. 

"  I  don't  suppose,"  the  Captain  said,  speaking  to 
his  pipe  bowl  as  he  twisted  it  about  in  his  hand,  *'  that 
you  could  possibly  guess  why  I  —  ahem !  —  requested 
your  presence,  sir." 

Mr.  Warden  writhed.  "  You've  taken  nearly 
twenty  thousand  dollars.  And  they're  wondering  all 


200  THE  UPPER  HAND 

over  town  why  I  sold  the  lots  on  the  river.  You've 
got  enough.  God,  but  I  wish  you  were  dead ! "  he 
cried  in  a  quick  burst  of  passion. 

"  Dead?  Well,  I  won't  deny  it'd  be  money  in  your 
pocket,  Virtue." 

"  You've  had  your  share." 

No  reply.  The  Captain  relighted  his  pipe  and 
leaned  back  comfortably.  The  two  old  figures  grew 
as  immovable  as  the  trees  in  the  wood  before  them; 
their  silence  became  a  part  of  the  quiet  sunny  hour. 
They  seemed  as  placid  as  the  clouds. 

"  You've  had  your  share,  I  say,"  murmured  Mr. 
Warden  at  length. 

"  Think  so?  We're  goin*  to  the  bank  in  New 
Liverpool  this  afternoon.  It's  that  I  wanted  to  see 
you  about." 

"  Never !    I'll  let  the  whole  thing  out  first." 

"What's  that?"  Bassett  laid  aside  his  smooth 
chuckling  tone  and  his  pipe  together. 

"  Not  today,  anyhow,"  the  old  man  replied,  feebly 
protesting.  "  Oh,  please  don't !  Please !  " 

For  the  pirate  caught  Mr.  Warden  by  the  throat. 
He  bent  him  backward  across  the  bench,  and  held  him 
there  helpless,  though  he  struggled  like  a  wildcat. 

"  How  about  it?  "  he  growled,  releasing  his  hold. 
"  Like  it  ?  That's  what  they  say  somebody  else  got, 
right  in  this  place.  Now  get  up.  Sit  up,  I  tell 
you!" 

He  dragged  his  victim  to  a  sitting  posture,  disap- 
peared with  many  curses  into  the  house,  and  came 


CONTAINS  LIGHT  AND  DARKNESS     201 

back  with  a  glass  of  brandy  and  water.  Mr.  Warden 
reached  out  his  hand  for  it,  hesitated,  shook  his  head. 

"Think  it's  poison?" 

The  other  nodded  maliciously. 

"  It  ain't,  though.  See  here."  And  the  pirate 
drank  half  the  glass.  "  Now  finish  it.  You  need 
some  courage.  I  wouldn't  kill  you  for  anything  — 
yet.  Only  you've  got  to  clo  things  my  way.  You 
had  your  turn,  your  chance,  and  you  missed  it,  Vir- 
tue. And  now  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  let  up  till  I  see  you 
started  in  the  straight  'n'  narrow  way  for  keeps. 
I'm  doin'  you  a  favor,  really,  if  you  only  knew  it. 
Y*  see,  Warden,  you've  been  so  cussed  mean." 


XV 

PRINCIPAL  AND  INTEREST 

TWO  hours  later  the  broker  in  New  Liverpool 
was  protesting  vehemently  when,  after  some 
parley,  Mr.  Warden  ordered  him  to  sell  cer- 
tain securities  that  were  hard  to  get  and  of  gilt- 
edged  quality.  He  had  time  to  wonder  also  at  the 
curious  figure  that  accompanied  his  patron, —  an 
elderly  man  with  a  smack  of  the  sea  about  him,  who 
carried  a  square  mahogany  box  bound  with  brass. 
It  was  the  Captain's  way  to  leave  strangers  in  doubt 
as  to  whether  they  ought  to  fear  or  like  him. 

"  Really  want  to  sell  ?  "  asked  the  broker  again. 

"  Right  away,"  the  Squire  insisted.  "I  —  have 
another  use  for  the  money." 

"  Well,  you  know  best,  sir."  The  man  of  business 
spun  about  in  his  office  chair.  "  And  I'll  tell  you 
what  I'll  do.  I'll  buy  one  of  the  Gas  Fours  myself. 
It's  too  good  to  lose,  a  chance  like  that,  now  I've  a 
little  money  loose  in  the  bank." 

"  All  right." 

The  seafaring  man  coughed  loudly. 

"  Could  you  let  me  have  part  of  the  price  down? 
Right  away?"  asked  Mr.  Warden  eagerly. 

The  broker  laughed.     "  Surely." 


PRINCIPAL  AND  INTEREST         203 

"  I  know  it's  a  little  queer  —  we  knowing  each 
other  so  well,"  he  went  on,  all  in  a  tremble.  "  But  the 
fact  is  —  well,  I  need  five  hundred  dollars  this  after- 
noon, and  — "  He  sat  back,  with  the  sweat  thick  on 
his  forehead.  "  I'd  like  a  drink  of  water,  please." 

The  stranger  produced  a  flask.  "  Try  this,"  he 
said  affably,  and  unscrewed  the  top  as  though  his 
friend's  health  was  precious  beyond  price. 

"  Thanks.'*0  Mr.  Warden  gasped  over  the  raw 
liquor.  "  I'm  not  very  well  today.  I  oughtn't  to've 
come  into  town.  But  I  couldn't  help  it  very  well," 
he  added. 

"  Better  rest  awhile,"  the  broker  counselled.  "  It's 
the  sun,  probably,"  he  added,  nodding  at  the  Captain. 

"  Oh,  yes,  the  sun.  I  guess  that  must  be  the  mat- 
ter," that  worthy  replied  amiably.  "He'll  be  all 
right  in  a  minute."' 

The  next  hour  passed  for  Mr.  Warden  in  a  kind; 
of  dream.  He  took  the  broker's  cheque  and  signed 
a  receipt  precisely  enough;  but  of  what  happened 
after  that  he  never  remembered  any  detail.  He  re- 
ceived no  definite  impressions  at  all.  He  walked  about 
mechanically,  his  arm  clutched  tight  by  the  Captain. 
The  brightness  of  the  streets  dazzled;  the  street  cars 
and  the  rattling  carriages  frightened  and  confused 
him;  his  head  sang  with  the  whiskey;  his  whole  frame 
ached  from  the  wrestle  on  the  bench  at  the  old  house. 
The  bank  teller  started  at  him  from  behind  bars  that" 
were  yards  away;  the  old  man  was  half  conscious  of 
some  delay,  of  something  like  a  quick  conference  be- 


204  THE  UPPER  HAND 

tween  the  teller  and  the  cashier,  of  a  few  words  which 
he  exchanged  on  topics  of  the  day  with  both  officials, 
and  an  "  All  right,"  which  the  cashier  muttered  to 
his  subordinate,  before  they  cashed  Mr.  Burney's 
cheque  and  the  Squire's  own  for  five  hundred  dollars 
more. 

"Feeling  well  today,  Mr.  Warden?"  the  cashier 
had  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  had  replied  as  briskly  as  heart  could 
desire.  "  I'll  take  it  in  hundreds,  please.  And  — 
and  how  is  Stella,  Meredith?  Remember  me  to  her." 

"  Good  work,"  Bassett  whispered,  when  they  were 
out  of  the  bank  once  more.  "  I  was  afraid  they 
wasn't  goin'  to  give  it  to  you.  I  ain't  had  so  much 
fun  in  a  long  while." 

They  came  into  a  quiet  street  lined  with  houses 
set  well  back  among  smooth  lawns  and  trim  shrub- 
bery. There  was  not  a  soul  in  sight,  for  awnings  hid 
the  broad  piazzas,  and  the  heat  had  driven  from  the 
sidewalk  everybody  but  themselves.  They  halted  in 
the  shade  of  a  maple  tree,  one  of  the  row  along  the 
curb,  and  the  Captain  held  out  his  mahogany  box. 

"  Don't  take  it."  The  Squire  found  his  voice. 
"  I'll  give  it  to  the  church.  It'll  help  save  our  souls. 
It's  what  I  ought  to  do." 

"  Most  train  time,  Virtue.  Don't  make  so  much 
talk.  Nobody's  lookin'.  It'll  pay  you  to  be  good, 
friend.  Mind  that." 

With  a  sob,  the  old  man  drew  one  bill  off  the  roll 


PRINCIPAL  AND  INTEREST          205 

in  his  hand,  and  pushed  it  through  the  slit  in  the  box. 

"  One !     Keep  the  good  work  goin',  sinner." 

Another  followed,  the  Squire's  fingers  shaking  so 
that  he  could  hardly  fold  the  paper  up. 

"  Two !  You're  leavin'  Satan  further  behind  at 
every  jump,  Squire.  'Nother  burst  o'  speed  like  that, 
and  — " 

"  Much  good  may  it  do  you !  " 

"  Me !  "  cried  the  Captain  hoarsely.  "  It's  for  an- 
other purpose,  like  I've  told  you  all  along.  I  ain't 
fit  to  be  what  I  am,  but  I  can  do  the  right  thing 
when  the  time  comes,  I  guess.  Now  then,  Squire ! " 

The  rest  of  the  money  was  crowded  into  the  box. 

"  You're  a  rascal,"  snarled  Mr.  Warden. 

"  Oh,  no!  "  smiled  Captain  Bassett.  "  I'm  jest  an 
Unworthy  Instrument." 

They  were  on  the  train.  For  many  minutes  there 
had  not  a  word  passed  between  them.  Mr.  Warden 
had  time  to  think  out  the  plan  which  had  flashed  with 
wicked  clearness  into  his  mind  as  they  climbed  up  the 
steps  of  the  rear  car.  He  had  noticed  then  that  the 
gate  on  one  side  was  not  in  place;  and  now,  as  he 
sat  in  the  almost  empty  car  (for  by  some  chance  only 
a  few  were  westbound  that  evening),  a  setting  of 
rear  platform  all  dark  and  unguarded,  the  swaying 
train,  and  the  sharp  rock  ballast  of  the  road-bed, 
framed  a  scene  that  seemed  not  impossible  to  com- 
pass, though  the  idea  fairly  frightened  him. 
,;  Nothing  could  be  proved,  his  evil  genius  whisperecl. 


206  THE  UPPER  HAND 

Who  indeed  would  suspect  him  for  a  single  instant  ? 
The  only  difficult  point  was  to  have  the  Captain  put 
down  the  box  for  a  moment,  and  even  this,  as  Mr. 
Warden  thought  it  over,  seemed  possible  of  accom- 
plishment. His  whole  story  —  how  he  left  his  ac- 
quaintance alone  on  the  back  platform  only  to  find 
him  missing  when  the  train  came  to  Kingsford;  how 
the  Captain,  drunk,  as  he  would  tell  it,  insisted  on 
taking  the  air,  was  worked  out  rapidly  and  carefully. 
The  world  would  be  well  rid  of  a  rascal,  he  added, 
fortifying  himself.  But  the  next  second,  he  shrank 
back  in  an  agony  of  horror  from  his  own  plot,  for  it 
meant  murder  and  nothing  else. 

Broad  Beach  was  passed,  and  Pequod.  At  Eas£ 
Kingsford  the  last  of  the  passengers  alighted. 
"  Kingsford  the  next  stop ! "  yelled  the  brakeman 
from  the  front  door. 

"  I  guess  I'll  stand  out  on  the  back  platform,"  said 
the  Captain  suddenly.  "  The  car's  too  hot.  Want  to' 
come  ?  " 

Perhaps  it  was  the  utter  simplicity  of  the  request 
which  made  it  so  shocking  to  the  miserable,  sick  old 
Squire. 

"No,  no,"  he  gasped,  looking  away.  "It  —  it's 
too  dangerous." 

"  Come  out,  you  old  fool."  The  pirate  jerked  him 
by  the  arm.  "  D'ye  think  I  want  to  kill  you?  I 
don't.  You're  too  good  to  lose,  even  if  you  are  a 
lying  old  coward." 

"  All  right."    Mr.  Warden  shut  his  teeth  together. 


PRINCIPAL  AND  INTEREST         207 

All  the  vital  force  in  him  turned  in  that  moment  to 
cold  hatred,  and  the  desire  to  kill  with  his  bare  hands 
as  he  passed  down  the  rocking,  swaying  car.  At 
every  jolt  he  smiled  happily;  he  was  glad  that  the 
engineer  was  making  up  time.  It  would  simplify 
matters  perhaps. 

The  door  shut  behind  them  on  its  stiff  spring. 
Darkness  had  come  down.  The  heat  was  made  the 
more  stifling  by  the  clouds  of  sandy  dust  and  cutting 
cinders  which  showered  thickly  on  them.  The  heavy 
roar  of  the  train  drowned  all  other  sounds.  The 
place  was  an  inferno  of  discomfort  and  danger. 

"  Fine  air ! "  yelled  the  pirate ;  and  Mr.  Warden 
grinned  for  answer,  measuring  chances.  He  had  con- 
trived to  post  himself  on  the  secure  side  of  the  plat- 
form, leaving  his  companion  a  narrow  standing  place 
at  the  head  of  the  unguarded  steps.  This  was  good ; 
but  better,  in  his  view,  was  the  fact  that  the  Captain's 
left  arm  was  employed  in  holding  tight  the  mahog- 
any box,  while  with  his  right  hand  he  was  forced  to 
clutch  the  derby  hat,  stiff  and  a  size  too  small,  which 
he  had  mounted  in  honor  of  the  day.  He  could 
steady  himself  only  by  bracing  his  feet  wide  apart 
and  leaning  back  hard  against  the  car. 

But  suppose  he  himself  should  fall  along  with  the 
other!  Suppose,  worse  still,  he  should  make  his  at- 
tempt only  to  fail!  A  wave  of  sick  weakness  mas- 
tered him. 

"  I  guess  I'll  go  back,"  the  plotter  shouted  shrilly. 

"  What's  the  use  ?     We'll  be  home  in  a  minute. 


208  THE  UPPER  HAND 

And  I  like  this  way  of  ridin'.  You're  a  sandless  old 
woman.  Look  at  me !  "  The  man  smiled  horribly  at 
the  half -crouching  figure  and  white  face  of  his  com- 
panion. He  kept  his  perilous  place  as  though  he 
was  standing  at  the  steering-oar  of  a  surf  boat,  his 
knees  supple,  his  ungainly  shape  giving  to  every  jerk 
and  heave  of  the  train.  There  was  that  in  his  pose 
and  confidence  which  set  the  Squire's  blood  boiling 
again.  This  seemed  the  last  touch.  In  every  way 
stronger  and  more  ready !  The  mocking  laugh  and 
the  taunt  sealed  the  destiny  of  the  Captain's  next 
few  minutes  —  these  and  the  whistling  of  the  engine 
signaling  its  coming  into  Kingsford. 

"  I'm  going  inside,"  said  the  Squire,  licking  his 
thin  lips. 

The  pirate  looked  the  other  way ;  the  old  man 
crept  a  step  nearer.  At  the  next  lurch  of  the  light 
train  around  a  curve  he  would  do  it.  He  would  sim- 
ply have  to  kick  the  man's  foot  out  from  under  him 
and  drive  against  him  with  all  the  weight  and  strength 
he  possessed.  He  could  hear  his  own  breath  come 
and  go  shrilly  through  his  nose.  Closer  still,  and 
suddenly  Bassett  turned  his  head.  "  It'd  be  easy  to 
push  me  down  them  steps,"  he  shouted,  with  a  giggle 
of  sheer  malice.  "  Why  don't  you  try  it,  Andrew  ?  " 

But  with  a  hoarse,  dreadful  cry  the  Squire  recoiled 
and  burst  through  the  door  back  into  the  car.  He 
sat  bowed  together,  nerveless  and  weak.  It  was  no 
consolation  that  he  had  not  actually  done  the  busi- 
ness; he  was  as  guilty  in  the  sight  of  God  as  though 


PRINCIPAL  AND  INTEREST         209 

the  pirate  was  lying  now,  all  broken  and  cut,  on  the 
rock  ballast,  with  his  soul  gone  out  of  him. 

He  waited  some  minutes,  not  daring  to  look  up, 
hardly  to  listen,  lest  he  should  meet  the  accusing  eye 
and  mocking  grin  of  his  companion. 

"  But  he  couldn't  have  known  it !  "  something  cried 
within  him.  "  He  wouldn't  think  it  was  in  you." 

Then  the  train  rocked  and  lurched  again.  And 
now  Mr.  Warden  started  from  his  seat  with  a  wild 
look  of  unreasoning  hope  on  his  haggard  face,  for 
these  certainly  came  sharply  to  his  ears  another  cry 
like  that  of  a  man  in  sudden  mortal  fear  and  the 
clatter  of  something  falling.  He  dashed  down  the 
aisle  and  tore  open  the  car-door,  to  find  the  rear  plat- 
form empty. 

The  usual  little  coolness,  which  crept  in  from  the 
sea  after  sundown,  brought  all  Kingsford  outdoors. 
Usually,  after  mail-time  (when  everybody,  high  and 
low,  turned  out  for  a  long  half  hour),  the  street  was 
quite  deserted;  but  tonight,  the  houses  being  too 
much  like  ovens  for  endurance,  little  groups  paraded 
up  and  down,  the  girls  laughing  shrilly  at  the  boys' 
jokes,  while  the  elders  lined  the  broad  porches,  if 
they  belonged  to  the  gentry,  or  sprawled  on  the  steps 
of  the  stores  and  the  post-office,  were  they  working 
folk. 

Jean,  like  her  neighbors,  deserted  the  house  the 
moment  she  had  finished  her  solitary  meal.  Her  un- 
cle had  not  yet  returned.  With  the  day's  terrible 
heat,  a  good  deal  of  Ihe  passion  in  her  heart  had 


210  THE  UPPER  HAND 

vanished.  She  had  gone  to  the  Ledges  rebellious  and 
sick,  eager  for  she  knew  not  what;  she  had  hurried 
back  with  a  new  hope  and  a  new  fear,  more  tumultu- 
ous than  any  emotion  of  her  life.  All  through  the 
long  hot  afternoon  she  had  dreamed,  sometimes  with1 
a  smile  on  her  lips,  again  with  troubled  eyes.  But  in 
the  evening,  when  the  calm  stars  shone  and  the  per- 
fume of  new  cut  hay  freighted  the  breeze  from  the 
sea,  she  felt  a  sense  of  relief  that  was  a  part  of  the 
hour's  sweetness. 

A  figure  slouched  up  the  walk,  after  closing  the 
gate  with  meticulous  care. 

"  Good  evenin',"  he  said,  halting  at  the  foot  of 
the  broad  steps.  "  Busy  ?  " 

"  Why,  no."  Jean  was  surprised  enough  to  see 
the  man  after  what  had  passed  between  them,  but 
for  the  moment  she  was  taken  off  her  guard.  "I  — 
Pm  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said,  and  was  annoyed  to 
see  the  little  start  of  pleasure  French  gave  at  the 
way  she  spoke. 

But  in  her  present  mood  the  fellow  mainly  amused 
her,  though  on  their  other  various  meetings  he  had 
either  interested  or  angered  her;  and  after  five  min- 
utes Jean  was  rather  enjoying  herself,  although  it 
must  be  confessed  in  a  way  hardly  worthy  of  her. 
In  five  minutes  more,  seeing  the  man's  confusion  under 
her  light  artillery  of  careless  chatter  —  he  who 
had  dreamed,  as  he  said,  that  the  two  of  them  had 
some  great  mission  —  she  thought  she  had  found  the 
best  way  of  turning  away  from  her  for  ever  the  look 


PRINCIPAL  AND  INTEREST          211 

of  this  clumsy,  dreaming  madman.  She  deliberately 
lay  back  in  her  long  chair  and  folded  her  hands  be- 
hind her  head;  and  in  the  dim  light  French  could 
see  that  all  the  time  he  was  stumbling  along  through 
his  speeches  Jean  was  smiling  at  something  she  seem- 
ed to  see  up  among  the  burning  stars. 

His  voice  dwindled  and  stopped.  He  could  not  go 
on.  Until  now  he  had  never  felt  the  magic  that  was 
about  her;  but  at  this  moment  the  entirely  feminine, 
.  physical  charm  that  was  Jean's  —  her  perfume,  her 
.lazy,  graceful  pose,  the  warm  light  in  her  eyes,  the 
voice,  the  delicate  dress  —  lay  hold  of  the  man  to 
his  confusion.  He  sighed  restlessly. 

"  I  never  knew  you  to  be  like  this." 

"  How  —  like  this  ?  "  she  asked  innocently.     And 
before  he   could   reply,   "  Do    you    like    me  —  like 
this  ?  "  she  had  the  hardihood  to  inquire,  with  a  little 
laugh.     She  hated  herself  for  doing  it. 
" "  I  can't  say,"  he  stammered,  looking  away. 

"  No?  "     The  idle,  teasing  voice  spurred  him. 

"  You're  all  right  to  look  at,"  he  replied  slowly. 
Jean  lay  still,  always  with  the  tender,  tricky  smile. 
"  Only  —  well,  I  thought  you  was  kinder  different, 
somehow." 

"  Tell  me  something  about  your  work,"  .she  said, 
indifferently. 

The  street  was  growing  quiet  again.  From  the 
distant  darkness,  whence  an  occasional  low  grumble 
told  of  welcome  showers,  came  a  steady,  cool  wind, 
just  enough  to  set  the  leaves  rustling.  They  heard 


212  THE  UPPER  HAND 

the  whistle  of  the  train  from  the  east.  Jean  thought 
of  the  morrow.  It  would  be  a  whole  day,  she  prom- 
ised herself,  alone  with  Grey.  They  would  go  far 
afield,  and  he  would  tell  her  again  through  long 
hours  all  about  Paris  or  Venice.  It  would  be  rare 
indeed,  if  the  north  wind  held,  lying  out  yonder 
under  the  trees. 

"  I  like  to  hear  a  man  talk  who  has  seen  things 
and  done  things,"  she  said  to  French,  at  the  close  of 
one  of  his  stories. 

He  did  not  know  that  she  was  dismissing  him, 
comparing  him  with  another  for  whom,  she  said,  ex- 
ulting in  the  thought,  she  would  wait  for  on  the 
morrow. 

Then,  all  <&  a  sudden,  there  entered  from  the 
darkness  Mr.  Warden. 

"  Uncle ! "  cried  Jean.  French  scrambled  to  his 
feet.  "  Where  have  you  been  all  day  ?  " 

"  I  had  to  go  to  town  rather  suddenly.  How-do, 
French?  Some  errand  to  Mrs.  Marsden  brought 
you,  I  suppose.  Just  going?  Good-night." 

A  great  surprise  held  both  of  them.  This  was 
the  tone  of  the  old  Warden,  not  of  the  man  who  had, 
for  unknown  reasons,  submitted  to  the  strikers  and 
listened  to  the  demand  of  their  champion.  The  two 
young  people,  for  different  reasons,  simply  stared; 
and  the  silent  pause  seemed  to  irritate  the  newcomer. 
Full  of  his  own  thoughts,  the  Squire  could  hardly 
appreciate  the  effect  of  his  sudden  entry. 


PRINCIPAL  AND  INTEREST         213 

"  Good-night,  sir,"  returned  the  reformer. 
"Jean,  I—" 

"  Miss  Wilder  won't  keep  you,  I'm  sure.  My 
dear,  will  you  get  me  a  chair?  I'm  pretty  tired  to 
stand  any  longer." 

"  I  hope  I'll  see  you  again  soon,"  she  said  to 
French,  carelessly  enough. 

"  I  guess  you  know  what  that  means  to  me,"  he 
whispered  back. 

She  withdrew  her  hand  instantly.  "  Good-night," 
she  said  briefly, 

"  Oh,  that  absurd  man !  " 

"So  he  came  around  again,  eh?"  ejaculated  Mr. 
Warden. 

"  He  was  properly  encouraged,"  Jean  replied,  half 
resentfully.  "  /  don't  blame  the  poor  thing." 

"Nor  I."  The  old  man  laughed.  "But  seri- 
ously, you  know,  he  can't  really  expect  that  you 
would  marry  him." 

"Not  even  with  your  permission?" 

He  tapped  her  arm.  "  All  moonshine,  my  dear, 
all  nonsense." 

She  leaned  forward  to  study  his  face,  when  to  her 
huge  surprise  her  uncle  caught  her  by  the  wrists  and 
drew  her  down  to  kiss  her. 

"  There !  If  I  had  to  be  polite  to  French  and  his 
crowd  for  a  while,  it's  all  over  now,  I  guess.  I  think 
so.  It  was  business,  Jean, —  just  a  bit  of  manage- 
ment, you  know.  I'm  sorry  I  had  to  drag  you  in." 


214.  THE  UPPER  HAND 

He  spoke  very  rapidly  and  nervously,  peering  be- 
tween each  sentence  into  the  darkness. 

"  I  suppose  that  was  why  you  went  to  town  to- 
day," she  said. 

He  sighed  and  shook  his  head.  "  An  expensive 
trip,  Jean.  But "  (he  did  not  address  her  now), 
"  the  money's  well  spent.  And  it  may  possibly  be 
recovered.  Jean,"  he  cried  aloud,  "  I'm  my  own 
master  now.  I  think  maybe  I'm  my  own  master." 

"  I'm  still  in  the  dark,  Uncle." 

"  Never  mind  that.  Take  my  word  for  it.  Kiss 
me  good-night,  my  dear.  Some  day  perhaps  I  — 
good-night,  Jean,"  he  said. 

Half  afraid,  wholly  uncomprehending  the  old 
man's  words  and  behavior,  for  indeed  he  was  not  him- 
self, Jean  did  as  he  asked  —  with  a  mere  brush  of 
tight  lips  across  his  forehead.  Then  she  escaped 
upstairs  to  her  room  at  the  extreme  rear  of  the 
rambling  ell. 

Alone  here,  the  doings  of  the  evening  slid  out  of 
her  concern  very  easily.  In  the  street  or  below- 
stairs  she  could  think  herself  a  part  of  the  village 
life;  in  her  own  room  she  became  the  heroine  of 
dreams,  a  part  of  some  distant  life  over-sea.  Partly" 
undressed,  Jean  opened  her  window  and  leaned  out, 
raising  her  face  to  the  cool,  gentle  wind.  The  night 
was  very  peaceful  and  beautiful,  full  of  stars.  The 
land  swept  off  mysteriously,  yet  felt  to  be  alive: 
easily  fancied  as  some  great  quiet  creature  lying  out 
there  under  the  wheeling  planets.  And  beyond  the 


PRINCIPAL  AND  INTEREST          215 

level  rose  the  solemn,  massive  Ledges  —  huge,  shoul- 
dering, bulky  things,  which  hemmed  in  Kingsford 
Valley,  yet  were  the  gates  of  the  fair  eastward  world. 

"  I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes  unto  the  hills,"  Jean  in- 
toned in  a  whisper,  earnest  as  at  prayer,  "  from 
whence  cometh  my  help." 

It  was  saying  over  her  creed,  her  formula  of  hope. 
She  gave  her  fancy  rein  when  she  dared  be  the  real 
Jean,  and  dreamed  of  the  happiness  hidden  for  her 
somewhere  among  the  rocks  and  the  ancient  trees. 
She  looked  to  the  Ledges  again,  but  with  a  smile  this 
time  and  a  heightened  color,  for  Jean  thought  now 
of  Grey,  the  man  whom  God,  she  whispered,  had  sent 
from  nowhere  thus  suddenly  into  her  lonely,  prisoned 
life,  and  the  happiness  of  the  next  day.  She 
thought  that  perhaps  a  part  of  her  dreaming  was 
about  to  come  true. 

She  had  been  asleep  some  time,  when  a  hurried 
knocking  at  her  door,  and  Mrs.  Marsden's  twittering 
accents,  brought  her  out  of  bed  in  a  second. 

"  Such  a  night,  my  dear  young  lady!  That  hor- 
rid old  Captain  with  his  sprained  arm!  Oh,  and  the 
awful  cut  on  his  head !  And  the  Squire  gone  crazy," 
Mrs.  Marsden  sobbed  out.  "  And  me  as  had  to  get 
the  doctor  myself,  and  not  decently  clad." 

She  slipped  on  a  loose  wrapper  and  slippers  in  no 
time,  frightened  but  trying  to  keep  cool.  She  asked 
no  questions,  nor  was  there  need,  for  poor  Mrs.' 
Marsden  was  pouring  forth  a  steady  stream  of 
broken  narrative :  How  she  heard  loud  voices  in  the 


216  THE  UPPER  HAND 

front  room,  and  then  a  groan;  how  she  went  in,  to 
find  the  Squire  staring  —  such  an  awful  look !  —  at 
that  old  wretch  of  a  Bassett  lying  back  and  bleeding 
all  over  everything,  with  his  clothes  torn;  how  the 
Squire  stammered  something;  how  she  called  Dr. 
Harper. 

"  Jean !  "  called  a  voice  down  the  hall.  It  was  the 
doctor  himself.  "  Come  at  once !  " 

She  hurried,  and,  seeing  that  the  two  front  rooms 
were  open  and  a  light  in  each,  turned  to  the  right. 

"  Here,"  snapped  the  doctor  from  the  other. 
"  Your  uncle's  here.  Go  in  to  him,  Mrs.  Marsden. 
Jean,"  he  added,  coming  out  into  the  hall,  "  I  want 
to  see  you  a  minute." 

"  O  tell  me,"  she  begged,  for  Mr.  Warden's  voice 
was  dreadful  to  hear.  Dr.  Harper  shut  the  door; 
looked  into  the  other  room  and  shut  that  door  also. 

"  Why  should  Mr.  Warden  be  scared  at  seeing  this 
old  Bassett?"  Jean  stared  at  him.  "It's  a  fact, 
however." 

"  Mrs.  Marsden  said  he  was  all  bloody  —  that 
he  was  hurt,"  she  whispered,  half  questioning. 

"  He  was.  And  not  pretty.  I  admit  that  may 
have  surprised  and  shocked."  But  the  good  man's 
brow  remained  puckered. 

"Tell  me  more." 

"  It  appears  that  the  old  fellow  tumbled  off  a  train 
coming  from  town,  and  when  he  got  here  was  too 
weak  to  go  further.  The  Lord  knows  how  he  man- 


PRINCIPAL  AND  INTEREST         217 

aged  it  even  that  far.  There  was  a  scene  of  some 
sort." 

"  Where  is  he  now  ?  " 

"  In  there.  And  his  mahogany  box  too.  He 
wouldn't  let  it  go  for  a  second.  I've  fixed  him  all 
right.  He'll  sleep." 

"  Anything  you  want ! "  came  shrilly  from  the 
Squire's  room.  "  Have  pity  on  me." 

"  Ahem !  "  said  the  doctor,  turning  quickly.  "  I'll 
fix  him  too."  He  took  Jean  by  the  chin  and  turned 
her  face  up,  looking  deep  into  her  eyes.  "  My  dear, 
I  think  you  may  hear  something  that  we  may  have  to 
promise  to  forget.  And  I  think  you  wish  your  uncle 
well?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  whispered,  frightened  now. 

"  Come  in  then,"  he  ordered,  pushing  open  the 
door;  and  Jean  entered  at  his  heels. 

This  was  the  spare  room,  and  Jean  could  but  no- 
tice how  strangely  the  sudden  intrusion  had  affected 
the  place.  Only  half  herself,  she  almost  laughed  at 
the  scene.  Around  the  walls  the  few  pictures  were 
swathed  in  cheese  cloth,  the  chairs  were  hidden  un- 
der their  holland  slips,  the  air  still  was  heavy  from 
the  room's  long  disuse,  and  strong  from  the  camphor 
which  emanated  from  the  press,  hastily  thrown  open, 
where  blankets  and  woolens  were  stowed  for  the  sum- 
mer. Yet  all  about  sprawled  her  uncle's  clothes;  a 
lamp  glowed  hot  and  bright  on  the  table,  and  across 
the  room  Mrs.  Marsden  was  panting  and  praying  in 
an  effort  to  keep  her  employer  beneath  the  covers  of 


218  THE  UPPER  HAND 

the  bed.  The  shadowy  corners  were  dead  and  cold, 
while  the  centre  of  the  room  shocked  with  its  dis- 
order and  evidence  of  struggle. 

"  Jean !  "  called  a  cracked,  shrill  voice.  "  You 
here?  " 

She  went  to  the  bedside,  forcing  back  her  repug- 
nance. "  I  thought  you  might  want  me." 

"  Good  girl,  good  girl !  I  did.  I  —  O  Jean,  it 
all  depends  on  you.  He  didn't  say  so.  He  only 
laughed.  But  I  know  it,  I  feel  it.  It  all  depends 
on  you,  d'ye  hear?  "  he  croaked,  grabbing  her  arm 
savagely. 

"  Ahem ! "  from  the  medical  man.  "  I  wish  to 
look  at  my  other  patient.  Mrs.  Marsden,  will  you 
help  me  ?  " 

The  woman  glanced  from  one  to  the  other.  "  I 
must  stay  by  the  master.  There's  a  dear,  good 
soul,"  she  went  on  swiftly.  "  Just  you  lay  down, 
and—" 

"  Mrs.  Marsden !  "  Jean's  voice  was  peremptory 
under  its  sweetness. 

"  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  stir."  And  indeed  she  had  no 
such  intention,  vaguely  perceiving  that  great  things 
were  coming  to  pass. 

"  Leave  this  room  at  once !  "  Jean  blazed  up  in  a 
flash. 

"  Not  till  — " 

"  You  get  out  of  here.  I  want  Jean,  not  you." 
The  old  man  pushed  the  woman  away,  and  scared 
her  to  tears  by  a  volley  of  curses.  He  watched  her 


PRINCIPAL  AND  INTEREST 

shuffle  away,  watched  Dr.  Harper  out  of  the  room. 
The  latter,  taking  advantage  of  the  Squire's  storm- 
ing, repeated  his  caution  to  Jean. 

"  I  promise,"  she  said,  heedlessly. 

"  Anything  he  asks.  He  must  be  got  quiet.  Re- 
member." 

Mr.  Warden  sank  back  on  his  pillow,  still  holding 
Jean's  hand.  His  eyes  burned  in  his  head. 

"  Where  is  He?  "  asked  the  old  man. 

"  Asleep,"  she  answered.  "  Never  mind  him,  Un- 
cle. You  were  sweetly  kind  to  shelter  him  in  his 
pain  and  weakness.  It  was  brave.  I  am  so  glad 
you  took  pity  on  the  poor  old  Captain." 

He  had  a  fresh  access  of  swearing  and  crying, 
which  shocked  her. 

"  All  the  more  to  your  credit  if  you  dislike  him," 
she  tried  to  say. 

"  In  my  own  house !  "  he  quavered.  "  Don't  let 
him  come  near  me.  Hide  me,  Jean.  Think  I'm  safe 
here?" 

The  fit  of  terror  passed  like  his  impotent  rage, 
leaving  him  limp.  It  was  some  time  before  he  rallied. 

"  Never  mind,"  he  whispered,  drawing  her  back. 
"  I'm  kind  of  nervous  tonight.  I  —  it's  about 
something  else  I  wanted  to  speak  before  you  went  to 
bed.  I'm  glad  you  were  so  nice  to  young  French 
just  now.  He's  a  fine  fellow,  girl.  Handsome  too, 
eh?  Bound  to  get  on.  I'll  help.  He's  just  the 
man  for  Kingsford  church.  What's  the  matter?" 


220 

Jean  had  recoiled  on  a  quick  impulse  she  could  not 
possibly  control.  He  sat  up  in  bed. 

"  Nothing,  Uncle,  nothing,"  she  murmured.  Must 
she  bind  herself?  Could  she  dare  refuse  this  sick  old 
man?  Was  it  fair?  Would  French  dare  ask  her 
again  ? 

"  Jean,"  he  quavered,  "  you'll  not  disappoint  me? 
Jean,  it's  a  good  match."  His  voice  strengthened. 
"  Who  are  you  to  pick  and  choose  ?  It's  time  you 
were  married.  Here  I've  kept  you  all  these  years  — " 

"  You're  unjust,  Uncle,"  she  cried,  in  spite  of  her- 
self. 

"  I  didn't  mean  it !  "  he  shrieked,  scrambling  from 
the  bed.  He  kneeled  to  her,  grovelling  there  in  his 
poor,  lean  undress,  the  tears  blinding  him.  He 
caught  the  edge  of  her  wrapper.  "  Promise !  Jean, 
please  say  you  will  marry  French.  Jean,  for  God's 
sake ! " 

She  hid  her  face  from  the  sight,  but  could  not 
shut  away  his  babbling,  pitiful  madman's  prayers. 
The  doctor  came  in  again.  In  a  quick  second  she 
saw  the  pleading  in  his  eyes,  she  caught  his  gesture 
of  command.  And  the  poor  old  creature  holding  her 
skirt  chattered  on. 

"  Yes !  "  cried  Jean,  in  a  passion  of  tears.  "  Help 
me,  Dr.  Harper !  " 


XVI 

THE   TEST 

THE  slow  night  wore  away  to  a  dawn  of  rose  and 
pearl-clear  sky  and  low  hanging  mist.  For 
tedious  hours  after  the  doctor  had  gone, 
Jean  sat  alone  in  the  living-room  between  trips  to 
the  foot  of  the  stairway  to  hear  any  stir  from  above. 
She  was  sick  with  fatigue  and  the  press  of  fears 
which  her  rash  promise,  so  harshly  extorted,  laid  on 
her.  At  length  she  must  have  dozed,  for  suddenly 
she  was  aware  that  the  lamp  was  sputtering  low, 
and  that  the  air  Was  choking  with  the  fumes  of  dead 
oil.  She  extinguished  the  struggling  flame,  and  in 
despair  was  planning  how  to  refill  the  lamp,  when  all 
at  once  she  perceived  that  the  square  of  each  window 
showed  pale.  There  was  light  outside,  faint  but 
clear;  and  then  Jean  heard  the  birds. 

Hot  and  aching,  she  flung  open  the  wide  front 
door;  she  stretched  and  shivered  delightedly  at  the 
touch  of  the  morning's  coolness.  For  a  moment  she 
stood  still,  wondering  at  the  western  sky  —  all  violet 
and  deep,  warm  gray,  wherein  a  delicate  moon  still 
shone  &  little.  There  was  nobody  around  to  see  her 
disarray,  so  Jean  stepped  past  the  corner  of  the 
house  for  the  look  eastward. 

281 


£££  THE  UPPER  HAND 

A  mystery  different  from  that  of  the  night 
shrouded  the  land.  Under  the  darkness,  even  the 
familiar  meadow  and  upland  took  on  a  character 
which  awed  her  a  little,  even  while  it  lured;  the  land 
at  night  had  the  beauty  of  dark  women.  But  in  the 
fresh  cool  of  this  sunrise  hour,  gemmed  with  dew, 
lazy  under  its  thin  garment  of  clinging  mist,  it 
smiled  back  at  Jean  with  the  charm  of  her  own 
youth. 

It  was  a  little  pagan  prayer  she  repeated  at  that 
hour.  A  thrill  of  companionship  made  her  heart 
bugle  back  an  answer  to  the  calling  of  the  wood- 
gods.  For  many  minutes  she  stood  there  facing  the 
dawn;  and  the  hot,  tired  thoughts  of  the  night  died 
away. 

But  at  a  stage-whispered,  raucous  call  from  Mrs. 
Marsden,  the  spell  which  the  young  day  had  cast 
upon  her  vanished  like  the  mist  in  the  borders  of  the 
forest. 

"  Good-bye,"  Jean  murmured.  She  actually 
waited  a  moment  for  a  reply.  But  none  coming,  she 
obeyed  the  housekeeper's  querulous  summons. 

"  Your  uncle  wants  you,"  the  woman  said. 
"  Hear  him  ?  "  They  were  standing  in  the  hall  now, 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  Jean ! "  It  sounded  weak  as  the  cry  of  a  sick 
child.  "  Jean !  "  the  voice  whined  pleadingly. 

That  note  of  feeble  helplessness  roused  her  from 
dreaming  quicker  than  anything  and  she  sped  up- 
stairs instantly.  Her  uncle's  room  heavy  with  dark- 


THE  TEST 

ness  and  close  air.  Without  speaking,  she  started 
to  open  the  windows  and  blinds  the  moment  she 
crossed  the  threshold;  but  another  whine  from  the 
sick  man  forbade  her. 

"  No  light.     I'm  not  ready  for  the  light  yet." 

"  You  called  me  ?  "  asked  Jean.  "  Have  you  been 
asleep?  " 

"  Sleep ! "  he  echoed  sombrely  and  scornfully. 
"  Sleep ! " 

"  You'll  feel  better  for  some  air."  she  persisted 
gently.  "  It's  a  beautiful  morning.  So  cool !  " 

"  Well,  then."  He  beckoned  her  silently  and 
secretly  to  his  bedside  as  soon  as  the  blinds  were 
open.  "  Is  that  man  here?  Close  the  door."  But 
she  had  hardly  obeyed,  when  he  changed  his  mind. 
"  I  —  I  think  it  had  better  be  open.  I  want  to  — 
to  see  things.  Captain  Bassett  —  ?  " 

"  Hush,  hush,  Uncle  dear." 

But  he  sat  up  in  bed,  wide-eyed  with  something 
akin  to  terror.  "  Why  so?  What's  wrong?  " 

She  made  haste  to  soothe  him  as  well  as  she  could ; 
and  after  a  little  the  old  man  dropped  back  on  his 
pillows.  The  pity  for  him,  which  the  first  word  he 
spoke  started  up  in  her  heart,  now  completely  mas- 
tered her,  when  she  saw  the  state  into  which  the 
mysterious  shock  of  the  night  before  had  brought 
him,  coming  as  it  did  on  the  heels  of  other  matters 
which  had  affected  him  powerfully.  She  said  noth- 
ing, for  indeed  she  could  hardly  trust  her  voice;  but 
busied  herself  with  freshening  the  room,  with  spong- 


224  THE  UPPER  HAND 

ing  lightly  the  Squire's  thin  hands  and  iace.  When 
his  eyes  were  shut  he  looked  like  a  dead  man. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear,"  he  whispered.  "  God 
bless  you,  Jean." 

"  Uncle !  "  she  cried,  and  sank  to  her  knees  by  his 
bedside.  "  I  am  so  sorry." 

He  smoothed  her  bright  hair  tremulously,  and  she 
remained  motionless  under  his  feeble  caress,  crying 
softly.  She  was  conscious,  through  the  confusion  of 
thought  which  raced  through  her  mind,  that  the  old 
man  was  murmuring  some  little  endearments,  such  as 
she  never  before  had  heard  come  from  him.  But 
suddenly  they  were  arrested,  and  the  hand  was  with- 
drawn from  her  head.  For  a  second  or  two  Jean 
waited,  then  raised  herself,  and  saw  that  her  uncle 
was  staring  across  the  rooom  at  something  behind 
her.  A  fear-struck  smile  distorted  his  face. 

"  There's  no  need  to  disturb  yourselves,"  came 
hoarsely  from  the  doorway.  It  was  Captain  Bas- 
sett  who  stood  there,  a  dreadful  apparition  with  his 
bandadged  head  and  unshaven  face.  His  torn 
clothes  were  huddled  about  him  somehow,  his  arm 
was  in  a  sling.  "  I've  been  admirin'  of  you." 

Jean  sprang  up.  She  felt  vaguely  that  she  must 
protect  her  uncle  from  this  man,  and  stood  between 
them.  But  he  bade  her  stand  aside.  "  I  hope 
you're  feeling  better,"  he  managed  to  say  at  last, 
the  dreadful  grin  still  on  his  thin  lips. 

"  I  looked  in  to  tell  you  so,"  the  pirate  replied. 
"  I  guessed  you'd  be  glad  to  hear  it." 


THE  TEST  225 

"  Of  course.  Anything  that  I  can  do,  I  — 
Jean?" 

"  Yes,  Uncle? "  Her  arm  was  round  him  in  a 
second;  and  Bassett  laughed. 

"  Be  sure  that  —  that  this  gentleman  has  every- 
thing done  for  him."  For  a  brief  moment  Mr. 
Warden's  old  manner  came  back.  "  I'm  sorry 
I  can't  give  you  my  personal  attention." 

"  Well,"  said  Bassett  slowly,  as  he  fingered  his 
bandages,  "  any  little  favors'll  be  gratefully  re- 
ceived." 

When  he  was  gone,  and  his  heavy  tread  was  heard 
recrossing  the  hall  immediately,  Jean  once  more  dis- 
posed of  her  uncle  comfortably,  and  sought  to  quiet 
him  by  praise  of  his  kindness  to  the  battered  old 
buccaneer.  "  And  I'll  help  all  I  can,"  she  went  on 
brightly,  though  her  heart  was  not  in  her  speech. 
"  Poor  old  thing !  I  don't  wonder  it  gave  you  a 
shock  to  come  upon  him  so  dreadfully  hurt." 

"You'll  help  me?" 

"  Of  course  I  will.  I'd  be  ashamed  enough  not  to. 
It's  the  merest  charity  to  do  what  we  can  for  the  old 
man." 

"  Everything?  "  he  persisted. 

"  Everything,"  she  repeated  gaily. 

"  Then  I  shall  worry  no  more,"  said  Mr.  War- 
den, and  lay  down  with  a  sigh,  closing  his  anxious, 
old  eyes. 

The  doctor  came  and  went  again,  leaving  orders 
that  the  two  old  men  should  return  to  their  beds. 


226  THE  UPPER  HAND 

Mr.  Warden  was  to  take  the  "  sleepy  powders  "  a 
little  later,  and  to  remain  absolutely  quiet. 

"  What  shall  7  do?  "  Jean  asked  of  him. 

"  For  the  patients?  Oh,  Mrs.  Marsden  can  attend 
to  them.  You'd  best  go  out  into  the  air,  child. 
Get  somebody,  and  take  a  good  walk."  She  made  no 
answer,  but  looked  away  with  that  vague,  strained 
attention  which  betokens  embarrassment.  "  Go  out 
on  the  Ledges,"  the  doctor  was  advising.  "  I  wish," 
he  laughed,  "  I  was  young  enough  and  idle  enough 
to  go  with  you." 

"  I  can't  go  there,"  she  said  half  aloud.  "  To- 
day." Had  the  painter  waited  for  her?  she  won- 
dered. 

"  No  place  so  good.  Rest  awhile  under  those  big 
trees,  and  see  if  you  don't  feel  made  new  all  over. 
I  shall  wait,"  declared  Dr.  Harper  good-humor edly, 
"  till  I  see  you  started,  alone  or  in  company." 

"  I  couldn't  go  to  the  Ledges,"  Jean  answered, 
meeting  his  eyes  now  with  a  look  which  he  could  not 
fathom,  "  till  I'd  finished  writing  a  note." 

"  You  oughtn't  to  waste  an  hour  of  this  beautiful 
day,  child." 

Her  smile  was  tragic.  "  A  wasted  hour !  "  she  ex- 
claimed. "  No,"  Jean  added  slowly,  "  I  don't  thinE 
it's  wasted.  It's  — " 

"  Well?  " 

"  It's  the  keeping  of  a  promise,"  she  replied.  And 
she  walked  away  with  her  head  low. 

The  queer  little  letter  was  written,  but  only  after 


THE  TEST  227 

long  hours,  during  which  Jean  told  herself  that  she 
was  arranging  her  whole  life.  Once  or  twice  the 
tears  blinded  her  as  Jean  drove  her  pen  along;  but 
each  time  she  checked  them  gamely,  believing  that 
she  was  doing  her  duty. 

"  Mr.  French,"  the  note  ran.  Any  other  address 
was  impossible  for  her,  though  she  tried  three  or 
four.  "  /  am  sorry  that  our  very  pleasant  evening 
together  was  ended  so  suddenly.  I  write  in  the  hope 
that  you  will  come  again  soon  and  receive  from  me 
personally  my  excuses;  for  I  am  unwilling  that  our 
new  acquaintance  should  suffer  any  needless  trial." 

A  breath  of  air  scented  with  woodland  crept  into 
her  hot,  shadowy  room.  Jean  looked  up,  and  drank 
in  the  perfumed  coolness  thirstily.  This  for  only 
a  moment.  Then  she  bent  again  over  her  desk  and 
put  her  note  in  its  envelope,  just  as  the  twilight  fell. 

A  knock  at  the  door  startled  her.  It  was  Mrs. 
Marsden.  "  Mr.  Grey,"  she  announced  acidly,  for 
she  did  not  approve  of  artists  in  general. 

"  I  want  to  be  excused,"  she  replied  after  a  pause, 
and  the  answer  hurt. 

"  Yes'm." 

"  No ! "  cried  Jean,  and  all  her  resolution  fled 
from  her.  "  Ask  Mr.  Grey  to  wait." 

For  Dana  Grey  also  the  night  of  Jean's  vigil  had 
been  sleepless.  He  was  on  fire  with  the  thoughts 
which  he  had  carried  away  from  the  morning's  ad- 
ventures on  the  Ledges.  He  recalled  her  every 
graceful  pose  as  she  rested  beside  him  in  the  shade. 


228  THE  UPPER  HAND 

the  way  her  eyes  spoke  in  ready  sympathy  and  ap- 
plause when  he  told  her  the  story  of  his  lean  years. 
She  had  sighed  with  him,  he  could  swear,  when  he 
had  cried  aloud  for  another  ride  along  the  out-trail. 
And  when  he  guessed  that  sorrow  and  the  restraint  of 
some  secret  bond  fettered  her  young  life,  which 
should  be  so  free,  Jean  —  Jean  who  carried  her  head 
so  high  —  had  confessed  it  to  him,  even  while  she 
was  fighting  not  to  say  a  word.  She  had  left  him 
with  a  promise  of  another  meeting, —  covert  like  his 
morning's,  lover-like,  he  dared  believe.  Then,  with 
no  space  between,  followed  the  remembrance  of  her 
uncle,  cringing  to  Captain  Bassett's  least  word,  his 
curious  announcement  that  Jean  was  to  marry  Se- 
bastian French,  the  Captain's  queer  dismay  at  the 
news,  Grey's  own  outbreak,  his  mortified  retreat. 

He  breakfasted  alone  and  hurriedly,  so  as  to  avoid 
the  careless  chatter  of  his  mates.  They  would  not 
understand  his  mood,  nor  could  he  explain  it;  and 
Grey  knew  how  easily  an  outbreak  of  temper  would 
blaze  up  from  him,  how  he  might  say  or  do  what 
later  he  would  bitterly  repent,  if  anything  occurred 
which  should  cross  him.  He  was  keyed  up  too  tight 
for  company ;  he  needed  to  be  alone  with  his  thoughts. 

Reaction  came  when  he  returned  from  a  two  hours' 
wait  in  and  about  the  Glade  for  Jean.  The  kaleido- 
scope changed  its  pattern  and  its  colors.  The  world, 
and  Grey's  place  in  it,  seemed  different  from  what 
it  had  been  earlier,  since  it  was  apparent  that  Jean 
had  merely  amused  herself  with  him  for  a  day. 


229 

After  all,  the  painter  declared  to  his  hot  heart,  a 
man's  work,  the  following  of  his  vocation,  the  reso- 
lute refusal  to  allow  a  moment's  interruption  or  dis- 
traction,—  this  is  the  world's  best,  this  the  man's 
duty  and  happiness.  He  had  bothered  himself  with 
the  affairs  of  the  Kingsford  squires  and  the  life  of 
pretty  Jean,  with  what  result?  Nothing,  he  swore, 
except  a  set  of  shaky  nerves  and  a  pair  of  tired 
eyes,  and  savagely  lopped  off  the  daisy  heads  with 
his  cane.  She  had  not  even  thought  of  keeping  her 
appointment.  At  any  rate,  Grey  was  a  fool  to  have 
believed  for  a  moment  that  he  might  win  her  regard ; 
he  was  a  bigger  fool  even  to  have  wasted  his  time 
thinking  of  the  child  at  all.  For  him  now,  the  lover 
of  his  art,  the  joy  of  creating  beauty  and  the  pains 
of  setting  it  forth.  And  he  burst  into  his  studio  as 
into  a  city  of  refuge,  bolting  out  the  world  on  the 
other  side  of  the  door. 

The  storm  which  swept  through  him  left  him 
nerveless,  though  full  of  feverish,  futile  activity. 
At  first,  in  the  strength  of  his  renewed  purpose,  he 
drove  at  some  work,  recklessly  scraping  out  a  part  of 
a  big  canvas,  which  at  that  moment  appeared  mere 
paint  instead  of  thin  mist.  The  studio  was  baking 
hot.  He  tore  off  his  collar  and  shirt,  then  stripped 
his  great  body  to  the  waist.  He  smoked  till  his  pipe 
sputtered  foully  and  his  throat  was  dry. 

"  It  must  come  right ! "  he  groaned  aloud,  study- 
ing his  work.  "  But  that's  not  it." 

The  dinner  bell  rang;  he  heard  Byram's  voice  as 


230  THE  UPPER  HAND 

he  passed  through  the  garden  to  the  house,  and 
cursed  both  sounds  as  distracting.  Again  and  again, 
with  infinite  care,  calling  to  mind  every  trick  of 
mingling  color  or  of  brush-work,  Grey  laid  in  touches 
here  and  there  on  the  irresponsive  canvas,  baffled  and 
not  understanding  when  after  all  his  pains  the  water 
in  the  picture  remained  opaque  and  the  mist  became 
cottonwool.  But  his  mood  held.  The  man  asserted 
over  and  over  that  even  in  this  failure  was  pleasure, 
that  he  tired  his  brain  and  body  just  as  another 
might  tire  them  in  the  hunting  field;  now  and  then 
as  he  worked,  he  tasted  the  higher  delight  which  the 
scientist  feels  when  he  watches  the  action  of  his  chem- 
icals in  a  new  experiment.  But  the  light  faded ;  and 
Byram  came  pounding  on  the  door.  He  was  faith- 
ful to  what  he  knew  was  duty. 

"  You  can  come  in,"  said  Grey,  shooting  back  the 
bolt.  His  voice  sounded  strained. 

Byram  puckered  his  lips  as  if  to  whistle,  as  a 
first  glance  showed  his  friend's  weary  eyes  and 
flushed,  haggard  face.  But  he  said  nothing,  only 
stepped  across  the  studio  to  get  a  look  at  the  pic- 
ture. Grey  was  scrubbing  his  palette  clean. 

"Well?"  he  growled  after  a  moment. 

"  You've  been  working  on  the  sky,"  Byram  ob- 
served. 

"Well?" 

"  It's  coming  along,  I  think,"  said  the  other  cau- 
tiously. 

"  It's  doing  nothing  of  the  sort,"  Grey  retorted. 


THE  TEST  231 

"  Thank  you  just  as  much,  son.  It's  a  day  of 
utter  failure  all  round." 

"  /  don't  see  it." 

"  No?  Well,  perhaps  you  hardly  could  under- 
stand." The  big  fellow  drew  on  his  clothes  again, 
and  flung  himself  face  down  on  the  old  sofa,  Byram 
looking  on  quite  without  surprise.  He  knew  hfs 
friends  dark  hours.  "  Suppose,"  Grey  went  on,  al- 
most inaudibly,  "  that  I'd  painted  today  a  great 
picture." 

"  It  would  have  been  like  you." 

"  I  mean :  what  would  have  been  gained  ?  Eh  ?  " 
This  was  new..  Byram  had  no  idea  how  to  meet  it, 
so  ventured  no  reply,  since  all  that  came  into  his 
mind  seemed  either  silly  or  indiscreet.  "  A  thousand 
dollars  maybe,  and  some  more  reputation,"  Grey  went 
on. 

"Isn't  that  enough?" 

"  Is  it?     I  wonder  sometimes." 

"  It'd  please  most  men." 

"  So  our  art's  all  selfishness  then !  n  Here  the  man 
sat  up,  and  a  moment  later  was  pacing  up  and  down 
the  narrow  room.  "  Today  I  make  a  botch  of  it, 
and  that's  good  discipline,"  he  continued,  in  a  hard, 
jangling  tone.  "  Tomorrow  I  do  well,  sign  the  pic- 
ture, ship  it  away,  sell  it,  or  get  a  medal.  And 
again  7  get  the  good  —  I  alone.  My  vanity  gets  a 
puff,  eh?  Selfish  pleasure  or  pain,  Byram.  That's 
not  all  that  there  is  to  life." 


THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  No,  indeed."  The  other  confessed  his  feeble- 
ness. 

"  I'd  like  to  be  doing  something  that  would  help 
somebody, —  do  some  good  or  other.  I  don't  mean 
giving  money.  Real  help,  JQU  know.  Oh,  my  God, 
Byram,  but  I  am  so  lonely  in  this  art  of  ours !  "  The 
big  fellow's  outburst  left  the  little  room  vibrant  with 
passion.  It  was  because  Grey  was  usually  so  quiet 
and  calm  that  Byram  felt  his  words  strike  like  shot. 
"  So  selfish  and  alone !  " 

"  But  the  work  itself  is  a  joy,"  he  said,  taking  a 
sentence  from  Grey's  creed. 

"  Is  it  the  greatest?  " 

Byram  looked  out  the  window.  Some  pictures  out 
of  his  own  life  were  here,  invisible  to  all  but  him,  and 
the  sight  of  them  set  his  face  in  lines  nearly  as  hard 
as  his  friends. 

"  Call  it  the  greatest  solace  then,"  he  replied. 

"  That  may  be  true.  But  that  means  you've  tried 
some  other  piece  of  life  and  felt  it  crumble.  Show 
me  where  life  is,  boy." 

A  curtain  was  snatched  away  from  before  Byram's 
eyes,  and  what  in  fancy  he  saw  beyond  it  seemed  to 
have  the  answer  to  Grey's  entreaty.  "  You've  found 
the  road,"  he  heard  himself  murmur.  Stories  of 
Grey's  mornings  in  the  forest  when  he  fancied  him- 
self alone  —  the  ready  gossip  of  the  village  —  were 
remembered ;  and  Byram  took  a  great  chance.  "  It's 
to  be  found  along  the  road  to  and  from  the  Ledges," 
he  said,  and  retreated. 


THE  TEST  233 

"  Come  back ! "  ordered  Grey.  But  Byram  had 
fled,  and  the  artist  was  left  to  meditate  in  the  gather- 
ing shadows.  For  an  hour  he  lay  there  on  the  sofa, 
almost  motionless,  but  at  length  raised  himself.  Out- 
doors he  looked  up  to  the  sky,  which  at  that  twilight 
hour  seems  so  vastly  remote,  and  almost  unconscious- 
ly folded  his  hands.  And  praying  there,  with  his 
fine  strong  face  upturned,  the  man  spoke  of  a  hope 
and  a  promise  which  were  to  change  for  him  the 
whole  world,  if  only  they  could  be  realized. 

The  white-faced  woman  who  answered  his  ring  at 
the  Warden's  later  in  the  day,  said  that  she  would 
call  Miss  Jean;  and  would  he  step  inside?  The 
house  was  quite  dark,  and  had  about  it  some  vague 
odor  of  drugs,  while  outdoors  the  black  night  and 
the  summer  warmth  caressed  one.  No,  he  would  wait 
on  the  piazza,  Grey  replied. 

It  was  long  before  she  appeared.  As  he  took  the 
hand  she  extended  him  out  of  the  darkness, —  and 
this  in  a  queer  silence, —  he  perceived  that  Jean  wore 
still  a  morning  dress,  which  vaguely  surprised  him, 
accustomed  to  think  of  her  as  changing  her  colors 
like  the  day's  different  hours. 

"  I  came  to  quarrel,"  Grey  announced. 

"With  me?" 

"  With  the  young  lady  who  failed  to  keep  her  ap- 
pointment for  a  runaway  along  the  Ledges  this  morn- 
ing." 

"  An  appointment  ?  With  —  you  ?  "  asked  Jean 
a  bit  faintly,  and  after  a  pause.  "  Oh,  no,"  she 


THE  UPPER  HAND 

protested;  but  he  could  have  sworn  to  the  tremble  in 
her  voice. 

"  Then  I  was  quite  wrong,"  he  made  haste  to  say. 
"  Please  excuse  me  for  the  mistake.  I  have  no  quar- 
rel at  all." 

"  You  waited? "  Jean  faltered.  Such  a  queer 
little  hopefulness  ran  through  her  question. 

"  I  was  sketching  anyway,"  Grey  answered,  his 
evil  genius  prompting  him  when  he  only  tried  to  re- 
assure her.  "  It  didn't  make  any  difference." 

"  I  couldn't  have  come,"  said  Jean,  "  in  any  case." 
And  then  she  told  him  the  tale  of  the  accident,  of 
her  uncle's  nervous  seizure,  of  her  playing  nurse. 

Grey  listened  with  a  curious  intentness,  for  the 
story  seemed  in  some  remote  way  the  sequel  to  a 
scene  he  had  witnessed  the  noon  before.  To  hear  of 
the  two  old  men  under  the  same  roof,  both  ill  and 
spent,  seemed  strange,  and  interesting  too,  after  the 
picture  of  them  on  the  bench  in  the  hot  sun,  when 
fear  rode  Mr.  Warden,  and  a  queer  elation  inspired 
the  buccaneer. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  when  the  old  Captain's  out  of  the 
house,"  Jean  was  saying. 

"  It's  strange  that  he  should  have  come  into  it." 

"  My  uncle  could  not  let  him  die  on  the  street,  Mr. 
Grey.  It  was  mere  charity." 

"  Of  course.  And  I  honor  him  for  it."  But  Grey 
was  thinking  now  of  the  first  time  that  the  two  men 
had  met, —  on  the  day  of  Mr.  Warden's  manifesto. 
"  Charity's  rarer  than  we  think." 


235 

"  Captain  Bassett  — ,"  Jean  began  again  after  a  si- 
lence ;  but  the  artist  interrupted  her. 

"  Who  is  he  anyway  ?  " 

She  laid  her  hand  quickly  on  his  arm.  "  Hush, 
hush ! "  she  whispered.  But  he  twitched  loose  from 
the  light  restraint. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  almost  ordered.  "  Why  do  your 
uncle  and  he  meet  in  the  woods  ?  " 

"  O  Dana ! "  Her  strength  seemed  to  flow  from 
her. 

"  I  saw  them.  Yesterday.  Why  does  your  uncle 
tell  him  things?  Why  should  your  name — ?" 

"  My  name?  "  she  repeated  on  a  quick  intake  of 
her  breath,  "  mine?  " 

He  could  hold  back  no  longer.  All  the  rage  of 
the  day  before  swept  over  him  at  the  memory  of  the 
men's  talk.  "  They  talked  of  your  marriage  — 
yours.  Ah,  say  it's  not  true,  Jean." 

"  You're  very  good,"  she  said,  drawing  back,  "  to 
care  about  it,  but — " 

"  I've  no  right.  I  confess  it.  I'm  merely  im- 
pertinent in  your  eyes." 

"  No,  no,"  she  cried  quickly.  "  Not  that.  I  said 
that  I  believed  you  were  my  good  friend." 

"  It  must  not  be  so !  "  he  stammered,  hot  and  blind. 
"  The  thing  must  be  made  clear  first.  I  don't  like 
it  now.  There's  too  much  mystery.  Where's  your 
uncle?" 

"  He  would  not  see  you.  He  wouldn't  allow  you 
to  speak  of  it.  And  I  forbid  it,  too." 


236  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  I'll  not  obey  you  then,"  he  retorted.  "  Let  me 
help,  Jean.  This  wretched  mystery !  "  He  leaned 
forward  in  an  endeavor  to  see  her  better,  but  Jean 
drew  back  the  deeper  into  the  shadow.  "  Will  you 
listen  to  me  just  for  a  moment?"  She  made  no 
answer,  though  Grey  waited  for  it.  The  silence  of 
the  place  weighed  down  like  lead.  "  It's  about 
myself  I  want  to  speak,"  he  added. 

"  You  mustn't.     You  shouldn't  have  come  here." 

"  This  much,"  whispered  Grey,  hoarsely.  "  I  will 
say  it.  Come  away  with  me,  Jean.  There's  another 
life  waiting  for  us  out  yonder,  just  for  you  and  me. 
Here  everything's  so  dark!  It's  you  I  need,  Jean. 
And  I  can  show  you  so  beautiful  a  world  —  so  differ- 
ent from  these  mysteries  and  the  unhappiness  here, 
Jean.  I'm  not  fit  for  you.  I've  lived  hard  and 
rough  sometimes,  but — " 

"  That's  nothing,"  she  said  quickly,  as  if  her 
thoughts  sprang  into  life.  "  But  I  oughtn't  to  lis- 
ten." 

"  Come  then !  Let's  play  the  runaway  from  it  all. 
Come  into  the  sunlight  where  love  is,  little  Swift-foot, 
and  honesty  and  clean  life.  I  want  you.  I  want 
you,  sweetheart.  So  lovely  and  good !  " 

"  I  can't  answer,"  she  murmured ;  and  then  her 
tears  came. 

"  Not  that ! "  he  begged,  tortured  by  her  grief. 

"  I  can't  answer,"  she  repeated,  half  aloud,  as  she 
fought  down  her  sobbing. 

"  Just  a  word  ?  "     He  saw  in  her  hands  something 


THE  TEST  237 

white.     "  What's    that,    Jean  ?     Aren't    you    listen- 
ing?  " 

"  You  mustn't  ask,"  she  cried,  springing  up. 
"  You  must  go  away.  Please  go,"  she  begged  piti- 
fully. "  I  can't  tell  you  tonight.  I  must  think. 
I  —  oh,  please  leave  me,  Dana." 

"Tomorrow  then?"  he  persisted.  "Some  day?" 
"  Tomorrow  at  noon,"  said  Jean,  turning  from 
him  with  the  same  words  and  the  manner  of  leaving 
him  she  used  the  day  before.  "  In  the  old  place  — 
our  place,  painter."  And  with  that  she  disappeared 
into  the  dark  house. 


xvn 

THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END 

FOR  two  whole  days  Kingsford  had  throbbed 
with  rumors  and  surmises;  and  never,  since 
Colonel  Gregory  came  back  from  Antietam, 
since  Ziba  Wilder  died  and  left  a  will,  or  since  the 
new  drawbridge  was  built,  had  the  town  so  thor- 
oughly enjoyed  itself  "  talking  it  over."  There  was 
so  much  to  make  good  stories  of  —  the  kind  that  are 
worth  hearing  and  passing  along  with  some  extra 
trimmings!  The  Colonel  had  stormed  out  of  the 
Warden  house,  in  a  state  bordering  on  apoplexy, 
leaving  the  Squire  in  parley  with  the  strikers'  com- 
mander-in-chief.  Mrs.  Marsden,  as  in  duty  bound, 
entertained  all  her  friends  with  the  most  vivid  de- 
tails—  all  in  strictest  confidence  —  of  the  pirate's 
bloody  apparition  and  her  master's  nervous  break- 
down. And  after  Burns  announced  that  Jean  herself 

—  looking  very  sad  and  proud,  he  declared  critically 

—  had  mailed  a  note  to  French,  Kingsford  talked 
itself  tired  but  happy. 

Vaguely  it  was  seen  that  something  was  wrong, 
if  one  considered  matters  from  the  standpoint  of  the 
gentry.  It  was  the  beginning  of  the  end.  The 
Squire  was  breaking  through  traditions  that  were  as 

238 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END     239 

old  as  the  village  itself,  and  Kingsford  found  itself 
losing  a  little  of  its  faith  in  its  leading  citizen. 
Those  who  knew  him  best  (and  everybody  knew 
Squire  Warden  well)  hinted  with  a  melancholy 
shake  of  the  head  at  the  possible  reason  for  his  queer 
actions.  They  recalled  significantly  the  legends  of 
his  granduncle  Barzillai,  who  insisted  that  he  was  a 
helpless  baby  and  had  to  be  cared  for  like  one  up 
to  the  day  of  his  death. 

"  But  he's  never  shown  a  sign  of  it,"  Colonel 
Gregory  protested  feebly. 

"  You  can't  tell  me  that  something  isn't  wrong," 
his  wife  replied,  calm  in  her  convictions. 

"  Well,"  the  old  warrior  sighed,  "  I'm,  kind  o* 
afraid  that  something's  going  to  happen  one  o'  these 
fine  days.  I  will  say  that  much." 

And  as  a  matter  of  fact  the  events  which  set  Kings- 
ford  gossip  going  in  a  wave  that  seemed  likely  to 
roll  on  forever,  took  place  the  very  next  morning, 
beginning  with  the  time  that  the  mail  was  distributed. 

The  little  sliding  window,  which  was  closed  while 
the  sorting  and  stamping  went  on,  was  shoved  up, 
and  the  postmaster  peered  out  anxiously.  His  face 
brightened  however,  as  he  caught  sight  of  French. 

"  There's  a  letter  for  you,  Sebastian,"  he  called 
out,  after  a  few  minutes'  rapid  work  with  the  boys 
and  girls,  who  always  crowded  up  closest  to  the  win- 
dow. The  lull  that  followed  the  first  excitement  was 
exactly  the  right  moment  for  his  announcement,  and 


240  THE  UPPER  HAND 

Burns  succeeded  perfectly  in  his  effort  to  speak  cas- 
ually. 

French  looked  up  in  some  surprise.      "For  me?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  And  I  should  judge,"  the  postmaster 
continued  with  another  supreme  effort  to  appear  un- 
interested, "  that  'twas  writ  in  a  lady's  writin'.  And 
it's  postmarked  Kingsford."  This  last  was  delivered 
loud  enough  for  everybody  in  the  place  to  hear. 

French  turned  a  dull  red  under  his  sallow  skin, 
and  took  the  square  envelope  uncomprehendingly. 
He  grinned  sheepishly  as  he  caught  the  eager  look 
on  the  faces  of  the  men;  but  as  he  tore  it  open  and 
glanced  down  the  page,  his  expression  grew  steadier; 
and  his  embarrassment  changed  to  a  delight  that 
spread  over  his  uncouth  face  like  sunshine.  By  this 
time  the  postmaster  had  found  it  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  get  a  quart  of  pickles  out  of  the  barrel  by 
which  French  was  standing. 

A  choked  exclamation  from  the  young  man  made 
every  head  turn  his  way.  He  waved  his  letter  clum- 
sily over  his  head. 

"  Perhaps  you'd  like  to  know  what  I've  got  here," 
he  said  to  the  others.  "  I  only  wish  old  Gregory 
was  here,  and  everybody.  I  —  it's  quite  interesting. 
It's—" 

"  Read  it  out,  why  don't  you?  "  queried  Burns 
with  an  attempt  at  a  joke. 

"  It's  the  greatest  thing  that  ever  happened," 
French  cried,  laughing  a  little  wildly.  "  It  —  it 
don't  seem  possible.  I  can't  hardly  believe  it's  so," 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END     241 

he  said  to  Burns  desperately.  "  D'you  think  it's 
true?  Ain't  it  some  joke  or  other." 

"  I  guess  maybe  'tis,"  the  postmaster  replied  craft- 
ily. "  Let's  hear  it." 

"It's  true!"  French  retorted  hotly.  "It's  her 
own  doin'.  She — " 

"  Will  you  read  it  out?  "  Burns  cried  with  start- 
ling distinctness.  "  Whatcher  talkin'  about  any- 
way?" 

"  Listen  then,"  the  other  ordered.  "  Every  one  of 
you." 

And  as  the  men  drew  in  close  around  him  and  the 
women  craned  their  necks  to  hear  all  they  could, 
French  declaimed  aloud,  though  he  made  a  sorry  hash 
of  his  reading,  the  first  letter  he  had  received  from 
the  girl  he  had  sworn  he  loved.  But  that  part  of 
the  matter  did  not  occur  to  him. 

"What  d'ye  think  of  that?"  he  cried  triumph- 
antly, with  a  roll  in  his  voice.  "  From  Jean  Wilder ! 
Are  they  on  the  side  of  the  laboring  man  now?  " 
He  thrust  the  letter  into  his  pocket.  "  Ah !  well,  I 
rather  guess ! " 

"  S'pose  you  ain't  likely  to  keep  that  'pointment, 
eh  ? "  the  postmaster  remarked  gleefully,  with  an 
ecstatic  wink  to  the  others.  "  Say,  I  wish  I  had  a 
girl  to  write  me  a  letter  like  that,  boys." 

The  men  chuckled  grimly,  which  was  their  extreme 
limit  of  mirth,  and  Burns  felt  more  than  repaid. 

"  You  ain't  handsome  enough,   Jacob,"  said   one 


242  THE  UPPER  HAND 

of  them.  "  It  takes  us  young  fellers  to  get  along 
with  the  girls." 

But  French  did  not  hear  this,  for  the  moment  he 
had  finished  Jean's  note  he  hurried  out  of  the  door 
and  down  the  street.  His  happiness  was  made  com- 
plete, when  he  saw  coming  toward  him  the  man  of  all 
others  he  wanted  just  then  to  meet. 

"  I've  got  some  news  for  you"  he  said,  as  Grey 
drew  near.  There  was  something  in  the  painter's 
troubled  look  that  made  it  easy  enough  to  "  rub  it 
in,"  as  French  promised  himself  joyfully  that  he 
would  do.  "  You  guessed  you  was  about  the  only 
one  in  Kingsf ord  the  other  day,  didn't  you  ?  " 

Grey  very  deliberately  set  down  his  sketching  kit, 
and  with  equal  deliberation  looked  the  striker  all  over 
from  his  shining  eyes  down  to  his  shapeless  shoes 
and  up  again. 

"  What  are  you  talking  about?  "  he  asked,  though 
a  queer  nameless  apprehension  sprang  up  in  his 
heart.  "What  day?" 

"  When  you  was  so  fresh  'n'  rescued  Jean  Wilder 
from  bein'  seen  on  the  street  with  me,"  French  replied 
rapidly  and  tauntingly  still,  though  an  angry 
shadow  crossed  his  face.  "  You  thought  she  was  all 
for  you  that  time." 

"  Well?  "     The  quiet  man  was  dangerously  quiet. 

"  Pretty  fresh,  wasn't  you  ?  " 

"  If  I  did  Miss  Wilder  a  service  then,  I'm  very 
glad  of  it,"  Grey  responded  evenly,  "  and  if  you 
bother  her  again,  and  I  hear  of  it,"  he  said,  "  I'll 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END      243 

give  myself  the  pleasure  of  licking  you  good  and 
hard.     Is  that  clear?  " 

He  hoped  that  French  would  strike  at  him  right 
then,  for  he  was  hot  at  the  thought  of  this  man's 
so  much  as  looking  at  Jean  out  of  his  black,  dream- 
ing eyes.  And  all  the  morning  he  had  been  haunted 
by  the  sorrow  which  she  could  not  hide  from  him  as 
they  talked  through  those  feverish  minutes  in  the 
dark,  in  which  he  felt  that  French  had  some  unknown 
share.  He  felt  his  muscles  tauten,  he  marked  the 
place  on  the  lean  jaw  that  he  would  strike  at. 

"  Miss  Wilder  is  through  being  troubled  by  you, 
understand?  "  he  asked. 

French  broke  out  in  a  cackle  of  laughter,  and  Grey 
perceived  dimly  the  trap  into  which  he  had  fallen, 
though  he  could  not  believe  his  own  fear. 

"  I'm  goin'  to  the  house  this  minute,"  French  said. 
"  And  Jean  asked  me  to  come."  Some  instinct  told 
Grey  that  the  fellow  was  not  lying.  His  thoughts 
were  in  a  whirl. 

"  She  wrote  'n*  asked  me  last  night." 
"Last  night?" 

The  words  came  to  his  lips  before  he  could  check 
them.  But  the  dear  memory  of  what  she  had  said 
and  the  way  she  had  borne  herself  could  not  be 
abated.  Still  he  doggedly  refused  to  believe;  still 
she  would  meet  him  in  an  hour  in  their  own  place,  as 
she  had  promised. 

"  I  kinder  thought  you'd  like  to  know  about  this 


£44 

letter  of  hep's,"  French  went  on  exultingly,  drawing 
it  out,  "  same's  everybody  else." 

"The  same  as — ?" 

"  No  good  hidin'  good  news,  you  know.  The 
boys  was  glad  enough  when  they  heard  it." 

"  D'you  mean  you  read  Miss  Wilder's  letter  to 
anybody  ?  " 

"  Sure  I  did,"  cried  French.  "  Got  any  re- 
marks ?  " 

"  You  cad ! "  whispered  Grey.  "  Oh,  you  utter 
cad!" 

"  I'll  tell  her  how  you  took  it,"  the  other  said, 
grinning.  "  But  you'd  better  climb  down  and  git 
into  the  band-wagon  when  you  can,  Mister  Artist. 
You  ain't  got  a  chance  in  the  world."  Swiftly 
French  folded  the  letter  and  put  it  up  again,  and 
even  in  that  short  moment,  the  man's  mood  changed. 
The  malice  faded  out  of  his  face,  and  his  old  look 
of  enthusiasm  and  confident  hope  returned  —  the  look 
that  Jean  had  seen  at  the  "  loveTfeast."  "  I'll  win !  " 
he  said,  looking  Grey  in  the  eyes.  "  Don't  try  to 
stop  me.  You  can't,  for  I'm  bein'  led  by  God  him- 
self." 

For  a  moment  Grey  watched  him  as  he  walked 
away.  He  watched  till  he  saw  French  turn  in  at 
Squire  Warden's  gate. 

"  But  I  must  be  there,  if  she  comes,"  he  said,  sud- 
denly waking.  He  turned  abruptly  into  the  lane  to 
the  Ledges.  "  And  she  will  come.  Make  her  come, 
my  God!" 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END     245 

For  Jean  the  bright  lazy  morning  was  dark 
enough.  She  had  wakened  limp  and  tired.  The 
memory  of  what  she  had  gone  through  with  Grey 
lay  on  her  like  the  marks  of  a  beating ;  and  she  knew 
well  enough  that  French  would  not  delay  to  reply  in 
person  to  her  note.  She  moved  about  her  prison- 
house  restlessly,  doing  her  small  duties  with  a  sort 
of  eager  care ;  but  flying  to  the  front  windows  every 
other  minute  after  the  time  that  she  knew  the  mail 
would  be  distributed,  for  if  French  came,  Jean  wished 
to  see  him  and  endure  hearing  whatever  he  had  to 
say  all  alone,  without  disturbing  her  sick  old  uncle. 
The  latter,  she  knew,  was  talking  comfortably  on  the 
side  piazza  with  the  queer  old  buccaneer,  who  was  so 
friendly,  yet  somehow  fearsome  at  the  same  time. 

She  had  the  front  door  open  before  French  had 
ascended  the  steps,  and  stood  on  the  threshold  with 
the  ghost  of  her  old  smile  to  receive  him. 

"  See  here ! "  he  cried,  and  dragged  out  from  its 
place  Jean's  note,  which  now  was  crumpled  and  wet 
with  sweat.  "  At  the  beginning  you  wouldn't  have 
written  this." 

"  So  much  has  happened,"  Jean  answered,  "  since 
then." 

"Really? 

"  More,"  she  said  looking  away,  "  than  you  can 
ever  guess  perhaps." 

"  The  Wardens  converted !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  And 
you  first!  It  was  you  that  came  to  the  meeting; 
it  was  you  that  wrote  this  note." 


246  THE  UPPER  HAND 

She  regarded  the  paper  curiously.  It  seemed  as 
though  she  was  hearing  a  story  about  other  times 
and  other  people,  from  whose  lives  this  stained  sheet 
was  a  curious  relic. 

"  Give  it  to  me,"  she  demanded  impulsively.  She 
wished  to  study  the  handwriting  of  this  girl  she  was 
hearing  about. 

"  No,  indeed,"  French  restored  the  letter  to  its 
place.  "  I'm  going  to  keep  it  always.  How  things 
turn,  out !  This  was  good  V  useful  this  morning,  I 
tell  you." 

Jean  held  herself  so  tense  that  she  trembled. 
"  Oh ! "  she  cried  softly,  as  though  somebody  had 
struck  her.  "  Oh !  were  there  —  were  there  many 
people  in  the  office  when  you  read  my  letter?  " 

"  A  crowd !     I  tell  you,  it  hit  'em ! " 

"  Oh !  "  she  cried  again.  "  To  think  of  their  dar- 
ing to  listen ! " 

"  You  see?  "  French  asked  benignantly.  "  There 
can't  nobody  reckon  how  much  I  owe  to  you.  At 
every  turn  it's  Jean  alone  —  Jean ! "  he  exclaimed, 
closing  his  eyes,  "  what  helps  me !  " 

She  could  not  trust  herself  to  utter  a  word. 
French,  on  his  side,  fell  into  one  of  his  day  dreams, 
and  sat  for  a  moment  looking  out  into  the  street 
without  saying  anything.  A  couple  of  laborers 
slouched  past,  saw  him,  and  laughed  together  as 
they  waved  their  hats.  Their  action  roused  him. 
"  That's  good,"  he  said,  half  aloud.  "  They  trust 
me  —  oh,  I'm  sure  they  trust  me,  Jean,"  he  went 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END     247 

on,  coming  erect  again.  "  I'll  win.  I  always  win," 
he  declared.  "  I  fight  for  the  right ;  or  I  try  to, 
'n'  God'll  strengthen  me.  But  I  talk  too  much  about 
this,"  he  broke  off  with.  "It  ain't  all  o'  my  life, 
Not  the  nicest  dream."  He  hesitated,  cleared  his 
throat.  "  This  letter  of  yours !  I  wonder  what  it 
meant." 

"  You've  already  made  good  use  of  it,"  she  could 
but  throw  at  him. 

"  But  not  the  best  use  —  I  hope." 

"  I  wanted,"  Jean  babbled,  again  seeking  a  de- 
fence, "  to  explain  about  the  other  night.  My  uncle 
was  ill.  The  heat,  you  know.  His  head  —  " 

French  nodded,  then  looked  at  her  fully.  "  I 
guess  I'm  pretty  sure  of  Mr.  Warden's  good  will. 
Ain't  he  showed  it?  It  ain't  him  I'm  uncertain 
about.  It's  you  that  counts  most."  He  leaned  for- 
ward and  searched  her  face.  "  I  said  I'm  sure  to 
Vin.  But  I  won't  have  won  —  not  half  —  unless 
I  get  you.  And  I  want  an  answer.  I  came  for  it. 
I'm  goin'  to  fight  for  it.  I  want  to  know  why  you 
wrote  this  note.  Jean,"  he  cried,  "  tell  me  you 
meant  that  maybe  there  was  a  chance  for  me ! " 

"  Even  though  my  father's  —  what  you  once  told 
me?" 

He  missed  clean  the  bitterness  of  her  tone. 
"  What  difference' d  that  make  ?  Don't  you  care  a 
bit.  I'd  marry  you  if  your  father  was  in  jail  this 
minute." 


248  THE  UPPER  HAND 

A  shiver  ran  over  her.  Her  fingers  were  knit  so 
tight  that  they  were  bloodless. 

"  Thank  you." 

"  When  a  man's  in  love  he  don't  think  of  such 
things." 

She  turned  then  with  a  queer  little  sobbing  cry. 

"  No  more  now,"  she  said.  "  I  can't  listen.  I 
want  my  uncle  to  hear.  I  —  oh,  uncle,  I  never 
dreamed  it  would  be  like  this !  " 

And  she  fled  into  the  dark  house,  whither  French 
hotly  followed. 


XVIII 

A  CRISIS 

TE  Squire  and  his  guest  were  having  a  quiet 
session  on  the  side  piazza,  where  the  breeze 
was  coolest  and  the  sun  warmest.  The  Cap- 
tain had  not  appeared  until  after  breakfast,  for  he 
had  taken  extreme  delight  in  having  it  served  in  bed, 
where  he  reclined  in  state.  It  gave  Mrs.  Marsden  an 
uneasy  quarter  of  an  hour  —  that  breakfast,  for  at 
first  Bassett  beamed  upon  her  from  his  pillow  as  be- 
nignantly  as  the  blessed  sun  (though  more  disconcert- 
ingly), and  then  insisted  that  she  alone  should  open 
the  eggs  and  chip  up  the  bacon. 

"  None  o'  your  hired  help  for  me,"  he  said  to  her 
with  fine  indignation,  "  s'long  as  the  lady  of  the 
house  is  up  5n*  about.  Madam,"  he  continued,  in  an 
easy  conversational  tone,  "  should  the  thought  of 
marriage  ever  brighten  your  horizon  — " 
.  "  No  danger ! "  she  snapped,  but  not  unkindly. 

"  So?     How  do  I  know?     Look  at  the  late  Mars- 
"den." 

"  I  mean  now,"  the  widow  explained,  smiling  at 
the  cream  pitcher  with  her  head  on  one  side. 

"  I  am  the  most  heartless  old  rascal  alive,  my  dear 
madam  —  this  is  entirely  between  us;  but  when   I 

249 


250  THE  UPPER  HAND 

seen  that  tray  of  breakfast,  served  in  bed,  and  you 
there  a  bringin'  it  in  the  door  —  great  dee,  Mrs. 
Marsden ! "  cried  the  Captain  in  a  voice  of  thunder, 
propping  up  his  bandage  which  had  slipped  over 
one  rolling  eye.  "  Danger  indeed,  madam !  Will 
you  marry  me  when  I  get  up  ?  " 

"Oh,  Captain!" 

He  lay  back,  staring  at  her.  "  I  mean,  when  I 
get  clear  of  present  incumbrances,"  he  hastily 
amended. 

"Oh,  Captain!" 

"  I  won't  hurry  you,"  the  mariner  assured  her  gal- 
lantly. "  When  folks  get  to  be  as  old  as  you  V 
me  —  " 

Mrs.  Marsden  made  an  inarticulate  sound  in  her 
throat,  and  her  eyes  glittered. 

"  Years  of  discretion  —  years  'n'  years  'n'  years," 
he  went  on,  "  real  old  people,  they  don't  want  to  do 
nothing  rash." 

"  There's  no  danger  I  will,"  she  exploded  with, 
finding  her  voice.  "  None.  And  there  never  was  no 
danger.  Now ! " 

"Cruel  girl!"  ejaculated  the  Captain;  and  when 
the  housekeeper  had  vanished,  "  in  two  days ! "  he 
said,  "  or  less !  I  must  get  away  —  quick !  If 
there  wasn't  more'n  the  one  reason." 

Then  he  finished  his  breakfast,  clapped  his  hat 
down  over  the  bandage,  took  his  mahogany  box  under 
his  sound  arm  (for  the  other  he  insisted  on  keeping 
in  a  sling,  though  he  had  received  only  a  sprain  in 


A  CRISIS  251 

his  fall  from  the  train),  and  for  an  hour  or  more 
went  on  some  errand  or  other  to  his  house  on  the 
Ledges.  Then  he  came  back  and  camped  on  the 
piazza. 

"  This,  by  dee,  is  comfortable,"  he  vouchsafed,  as 
he  lit  a  cigar,  addressing  the  world  in  general.  He 
had  removed  his  blue  reefer  and  sat  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves. He  regarded  with  a  bloodshot  but  wholly 
benevolent  eye  the  trim  garden  just  beyond  the  lawn, 
sniffed  the  honeysuckle,  settled  deep  into  his  chair. 
"  All  yours  to  look  upon  and  observe,  Squire,  day  by 
day.  I  guess  there  ain't  many  as  have  such  a  com- 
fortable life's  you  do.  But  then,  there  ain't  only  a 
few  as  is  so  virtuous." 

"  I  wish  you'd  think  up  another  remark  about 
me,"  the  Squire  replied. 

"  Meanin'  as  this  one  ain't  true  ?  "  The  old  fel- 
low rolled  his  cigar  over  his  tongue  and  set  it  firmly 
in  one  corner  of  his  mouth.  He  squinted  genially 
through  the  smoke  that  got  in  his  eyes.  "Wai, 
you're  in  the  way  of  being  made  virtuous  anyhow," 
he  said  easily.  "  And  that's  a  good  deal.  Only  —  " 
he  cocked  his  head  on  one  side  —  "  you've  still  one  or 
two  details  to  'tend  to.  You  see  you  oughtn't  to 
have  played  that  there  trick  on  a  certain  party. 
Honest,  as  between  man  'n'  man,  that  was  a  mistake, 
same  as  I've  said  before.  Squire,"  he  went  on  plead- 
ingly, with  a  fine  tremor  of  correction  in  his  voice, 
"  don't  never  forge  a  will  again.  Please  don't." 

"  God   knows    I've   suffered  enough,"   sighed  the 


258  THE  UPPER  HAND 

other  sadly.  "  And  so  many  do  the  same  and  worse 
without  caring." 

"  That's  because  they  ain't  got  no  God  A'mighty 
livin*  in  the  same  town  what  knows  their  secrets,"  the 
Captain  explained.  "  So  long's  I'm  'round,  you'll 
keep  repentin'  good  *n'  lively." 

"  It's  paid  you  well,  my  friend." 

"  The  interest  was  consid'able,  Squire.  But  I 
guess  the  box  is  's  full's  need  be  now." 

Mr.  Warden  looked  up.  "  You're  done  with  me?  " 
he  asked. 

"  I  jest  hated  doin'  it,"  Bassett  replied.  "  But  it 
wouldn't  never've  done  to  let  you  enjoy  them  ill- 
gotten  gains,  would  it?  They  belonged  to  —  some- 
body else,  you  see." 

He  spoke  very  gently  and  smoothly,  as  if  he  were 
remonstrating  with  a  fractious  child. 

"  I  might  'a*  sued  ye  for  the  money,  Squire,"  he 
went  on,  "  but  I  guess  Andrew  Warden  was  pretty 
safe  'gainst  anybody  like  —  me  at  the  time.  But 
there  was  another  way." 

"  Blackmail ! "  whispered  Mr.  Warden. 

"Exactly.  Ah!"  The  pirate  sighed.  "  To  find 
out  that  a  virtuous  party  forged  a  certain  Pa's  will 
so  that  the  unvirtuous  son  of  said  Pa  should  get 
nothin',  and  virtue  get  it's  reward  —  ah !  And  to 
make  virtue  pay  up  for  fear  it'd  all  get  in  the  papers 
—  ah ! "  His  sighs  were  profound  and  vast  sighs. 
"  There's  a  career  for  a  deep  sea  mariner ! " 


A  CRISIS  253 

"  N>ow  it's  over  ?  "  Mr.  Warden  asked,  in  the  same 
querulous  tone  of  doubt. 

"  It's  a  pity  you've  been  so  high  'n'  mighty  all 
your  days,  Squire.  It's  really  too  bad.  It  kinder 
grates  us  poor  folks.  But  I'm  hoping  to  cure  ye  of 
it."  Again  he  sighed  as  though  bowed  by  a  weight 
of  responsibility. 

Mr.  Warden  did  not  say  anything  for  some  time. 
He  sat  blinking  at  the  sunlight  as  it  came  shimmer- 
ing through  the  honeysuckle  —  the  merest  shadow  of 
the  alert,  wiry,  starchy  old  man  whom  Kingsf ord  had 
thought  so  entirely  above  sorrow  or  care. 

At  length  he  said,  still  blinking :  — 

"  Why  don't  you  kill  me  and  have  done  with  it?  " 

"  There  wouldn't  be  no  fun  in  that,  friend,"  his 
tormentor  explained  patiently.  "  Besides,  that  cus- 
sed pride  of  yours  stands  in  your  way  of  growin* 
really  virtuous.  Guess  we'd  better  take  that  down, 
eh?  Just  a  little  more?  "  he  asked  insinuatingly. 

"  All  right." 

"  I  just  hate  to  do  it." 

"  All  right."     Only  his  lips  moved. 

"  Say,  don't  you  take  no  more  interest?  If  that's 
so,"  Captain  Bassett  added,  when  Mr.  Warden  made 
no  reply,  "  I'll  think  something  up  as'll  wake  you 
good  'n'  lively.  Let's  see."  And  he  pretended  to 
sink  into  profound  thought,  though  all  the  while  his 
little  eyes  twinkled  happily.  "  I  guess  we'd  better 
make  the  surrender  to  French  a  dee  thorough  busi- 
ness, Squire.  Him  on  top  'n*  you  down  —  way 


254t  THE  UPPER  HAND 

down  —  underneath.  Ever  so  far  down,  you  dam' 
old  thief,"  he  cried  in  a  sudden  burst  of  anger. 
"  That'll  be  only  square,  you  see,  you  tyrant.  And 
I'm  a  just  man." 

"  Tell  me  what  you  want,  for  God's  sake." 

"  There,  there,"  the  pirate  rejoined  soothingly. 
"  Nothing  ain't  a-goin'  to  kill  nobody,  I  guess,  'cept 
he  was  too  proud  —  same's  you  be.  But  if  what  I  do 
su'gest  is  kinder  hard,  Virtue,  rec'lect  that  Provi- 
dence has  still  got  consid'able  of  a  bill  for  you  to 
pay.  Now  listen." 

But  before  Captain  Bassett  had  more  than  out- 
lined the  course  of  action  which  was  desirable  for  his 
old  friend  to  follow,  the  scene  on  the  quiet,  sunny 
side  piazza  was  interrupted. 

A  minute  before,  Captain  Bassett  had  pointed  his 
cigar  at  Mr.  Warden  like  a  kind  of  truncheon. 
"  D'you  understand?  "  he  asked. 

The  Squire  nodded,  and  in  turn  indicated  the  butt 
of  the  army  pistol,  which  protruded  insolently  from 
the  pocket  of  his  guest's  reefer  on  the  floor. 

"  Yes,  by  dee ! "  the  other  exclaimed,  with  a  roar 
of  laughter.  "  It's  ready  for  you,  Warden,  if  you 
fail  in  a  single  p'int.  Just  remember  that." 

"  I'm  going  to  do  it.  I  —  it's  only  fair  to  you 
and  to  French,  anyway,"  the  Squire  babbled,  trying 
miserably  to  appear  at  ease.  "  I  can  see  the  justice 
of  it.  I'm  ready  any  time." 

"  Then  I'll  bring  French  right  'round." 


A  CRISIS  255 

"  Just  wait  a  —  a  minute!  "  Mr.  Warden  pleaded. 
"  For  you're  asking  a  pretty  hard  thing  of  me." 

"Asking?"  Captain  Bassett  scowled.  "Ask- 
ing? Great  Hen!" 

But  he  had  no  time  for  further  talk,  for  just  then 
Jean  threw  back  the  blind-door,  and  stepped  out  with 
French  at  her  heels. 

"  Uncle  Andrew !  "  she  said  at  once,  as  if  on  some 
impulse  nothing  could  check.  But  she  did  stop  as 
she  saw  the  haggard  wretchedness  on  the  Squire's 
face. 

"  You  came  in  just  right  —  same's  a  play,"  said 
the  pirate  blithely.  "  Mr.  Warden  was  just  wishin* 
that  French'd  come  'round.  Ain't  that  so?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied  dully. 

"  He  was  just  hintin'  to  me,"  the  old  fellow  went 
on,  watching  his  host  narrowly,  "  that  he  had  some- 
thin'  most  surprisin'  and  pleasin'  to  remark  about 
the  mill  business.  Ain't  that  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  murmured  the  other.  "  Something,"  he 
added  with  a  weak  smile,  "  that'll  please  all  concerned 
—  all  friends  of  honest  labor.  I  — " 

"  Hear  me  first ! "  said  Jean.  Her  eyes  were  on 
fire;  her  lips  trembled  as  she  spoke;  her  hands  were 
clinched  tight.  "  This  —  he  has  made  me  an  offer 
of  marriage." 

"  Great  dee !  "  The  Captain's  oath  flew  out  like 
a  cannon  shot.  "  The  impident  black-snake !  " 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  glad  of  it,"  Jean  went 


256  THE  UPPER  HAND 

on,  trying  to  speak  hard  and  quick.  "  My  father 
was  a  criminal." 

"Who  said  so?"  asked  Captain  Bassett,  with  a 
dark  look  at  French. 

"  But  I  told  her  it  didn't  make  no  odds  with  me," 
the  latter  said  to  Mr.  Warden.  "  It's  Jean  I  want." 

The  Squire's  face  slowly  took  on  a  mask  of  bitter 
aversion,  which  gave  place  in  turn  to  his  prevailing 
look  of  fear. 

"  Jean's  father  is  dead,"  he  replied.  "  He  died 
at  sea."  Then  suddenly  his  anger  overflowed  him. 
His  cheeks  reddened.  "  How  d'you  dare  come  here 
again  ?  " 

"  Because  I  asked  him,"  Jean  said  swiftly. 

"You?  Why,  for  God's  sake!"  cried  the  Cap- 
tain. 

"  Because  I  made  a  promise  to  do  all  I  could  to 
help  and  please  my  uncle."  Then  her  courage  left 
her,  and  she  came  forward  with  a  pitiful  little  cry. 
Sinking  down,  she  hid  her  hot  face  on  the  old  man's 
knee.  "  Oh,  I  didn't  think  it  would  mean  all  this. 
Uncle,  don't  tell  me  that  I  must." 

"  Just  wait  a  second." 

Captain  Bassett  whirled  about,  and  stood  with 
trouble  and  perplexity  written  all  over  his  face. 

"  I'm  a  teetotal  stranger  here,"  he  said  rapidly, 
"  'specially  to  the  young  lady.  So  I  feel  kind  o'  em- 
barrassed. But,  Squire,  don't  you  say  no  more 
about  the  need  of  youth  'n'  beauty  takin'  up  with 


A  CRISIS  257 

poor  but  honest  mill-hands  till  I'm  out  o'  hearin.' 
Understand  ?  " 

"  There,  there ! "  whispered  Mr.  Warden  to  Jean, 
stooping  over  her.  Go  into  the  house.  I've  got  to 
talk  with  French  here." 

"  You've  got  to  give  me  an  answer  first,"  French 
said  doggedly,  standing  between  Jean  and  the  door. 
"  I  ain't  going  to  wait  any  longer.  I  tell  you  not 
to  resist  God  neither.  He's  ordered  me  to  take  'n' 
have  you.  Now  will  you  come  gentle  'n'  easy  ? " 
He  waited  with  his  chin  on  his  breast,  looking  at  her 
from  under  his  heavy  brows  with  a  light  in  his  black 
eyes  that  was  lurid  and  wild. 

Jean  shrank  away,  unable  to  meet  his  stare. 
"  No !  "  she  answered  incoherently,  but  with  every  in- 
stinct in  arms  against  this  dark-faced  man. 

"  Then  I'll  wait  a  while,"  he  replied.  "  For  you 
can't  hold  out  much  longer,"  he  added  in  an  under- 
tone in  which  puzzlement  and  resignation  were 
queerly  mixed.  "  God  has  promised  you  to  me." 

"  The  workings  of  Providence ! "  murmured  Mr. 
Warden  when  Jean  had  gone  indoors.  "  Well,  per- 
haps it  is.  But  the  whole  story  isn't  written  yet." 

French  mopped  his  brow  and  sat  down  with  a  sigh. 
For  quite  a  while  neither  man  spoke.  The  squire 
had  changed  his  chair  while  French  was  talking,  and 
now  occupied  the  pirate's.  .  He  had  picked  up  old 
Bassett's  blue  reefer,  and  laid  it  across  his  knee. 

"What  did  you  want  to  see  me  about?"  French 
asked  at  length. 


THE  UPPER  HAND 

Again  the  Squire  looked  at  Captain  Bassett,  but 
that  worthy  made  no  sign.  He  was  watching  French 
like  a  cat. 

"  About  the  mill.  About  our  differences.  I've 
decided  to  end  'em,"  he  said  abruptly.  "  I've  given 
the  matter  a  good  deal  of  thought.  I'm  a  just  man, 
too,  Sebastian." 

French  made  no  sign,  though  the  old  man  seemed 
to  demand  an  answer  to  an  implied  question. 

"  How'd  you  'n'  your  friends  like  to  run  it  your- 
selves ?  "  Mr.  Warden  asked,  after  another  pause. 

"  What  ?  "  the  strike  leader  sprang  up. 

"  As  partners.  I  —  I'm  a  fair  man.  And  I  want 
to  keep  up  with  the  times.  Things  can't  be  run  as 
they  used  to  be.  Times  have  changed.  And  I'm 
tired  —  so  tired  of  it  all.  Maybe  I  could  stay  on 
a  salary,  just  to  keep  the  books  or  something,"  the 
Squire  concluded.  The  last  sentence  he  fairly  wrung 
from  his  heart.  The  whole  speech  sounded  like  the 
cries  of  a  man  on  the  rack.  And  when  it  was  fin- 
ished, Mr.  Warden  leaned  back,  spent  and  white. 

"D'you  mean  all  that?"  French  gasped.  "The 
mill's  mine  ?  " 

"  And  your  friends'."  In  the  presence  of  inso- 
lent joy  that  blazed  from  his  foreman's  face  the 
Squire  revived  a  little.  "  You  do  the  work,  and  you 
ought  to  have  the  profits,"  he  added  with  just  a  tang 
of  malice.  "  I'm  converted." 

"Thank  God!"  the  other  ejaculated.  "I  knew 
it'd  come."  He  looked  down  at  the  old  man  crum- 


A  CRISIS  259 

pled  in  the  chair,  and  a  burst  of  scorn  and  pity  and 
boastfulness  carried  him  away.  "  You  poor  old 
fool!  You  were  bound  to  lose.  I  tell  you  God  has 
run  this  whole  business.  You  thought  you  were  so 
rich  V  proud  that  nothing  couldn't  ever  touch  you; 
but  you've  come  down.  You  got  your  blind  eyes 
opened  at  last.  You  had  to  see  what  was  right  and 
you  had  to  do  what  was  right.  God  made  you." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Squire,  swallowing  a  lump  in  his 
throat.  "  God  made  me.' 

"  He  hath  exalted  the  humble  'n'  meek ;  'n'  the 
rich  he  hath  sent  away  empty ! "  observed  the  Cap- 
tain piously. 

"That's  right!" 

"  I  will  repay,  saith  the  Lord !  Ho,  ho !  Dear 
me,  Warden." 

"  He  will,"  the  Squire  echoed,  speaking  low  and 
quick. 

"  Old  Warden  surrenders  to  his  strikers !  Old 
Warden  asking  'em  for  a  job!  I've  not  lived  in 
vain,  b'  jolly." 

"  I  hope  you'll  give  me  one.  Those  that  won't 
work,  must  starve,  you  know." 

"  And  it'll  be  done  'cording  to  law.  You'll  sign 
a  paper?"  asked  French. 

"  I'd  do  it  now  if  I  had  one,"  Mr.  Warden  replied, 
still  in  the  same  curiously  reckless,  hurried  tone. 
His  thin  hand  fumbled  now  in  the  pirate's  coat. 

"  I've  got  you  down!  "  cried  the  striker.  "  It's 
the  workingman's  turn  now." 


260  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  I  hope  that  you'll  live  long  to  enjoy  it." 

"  Now  for  the  other  happiness ! "  cried  French, 
turning  from  him  and  the  watchful  pirate.  "  Where 
Mr.  Warden  goes,  Jean  goes  too.  She's  got  to  give 
in  same's  you  have.  Pve  got  you  down,  'n'  I'm  goin' 
to  bring  her  down  too.  Watch  her  come.  Jean ! " 
he  called,  springing  to  the  open  door.  "  Come  out 
here!" 

No  answer  from  indoors.  Bassett  very  softly  set 
one  side  a  light  wicker  chair  which  in  a  manner 
fenced  him  it.  He  kept  watching  the  Squire,  for 
the  tatter's  hand  was  still  hidden  under  the  pirate's 
blue  coat,  and  his  eye  was  full  of  hate.  Frencli 
turned  back  to  them  with  a  wild  look  of  triumph. 

"  I've  got  you  down ! "  he  kept  saying,  over  and 
over.  "  But  no  hard  f eelin',  Warden.  See  here !  " 
He  crossed  the  piazza,  with  his  hand  out.  "  Shake, 
you  old  money-king !  " 

"Stand  back!"  snarled  the  Squire.  "Don't 
touch  me ! " 

"  You've  got  to  shake  hands,"  cried  the  man,  mak- 
ing for  the  other.  "  You've  got  to  do  everything  I 
want,"  he  cried,  half  laughing,  half  angry,  wholly 
violent,  and  he  kicked  aside  the  chair  behind  which 
the  Squire  had  suddenly  sprung  at  his  first  outcry. 

"  Look  out !  "  yelled  Bassett,  but  the  black  revolver 
was  out  from  under  the  coat. 

"  Keep  away !  "  Mr.  Warden  muttered,  and  pulled 
the  trigger.  But  there  was  no  flash  and  report. 
There  was  only  a  sharp  click  and  then  another. 


xrx 

A   WAY   OUT 

4  4  ^T^HAT'S  a  pretty  poor  gun ! "  said  French 
through  his  clay-white  lips,  as  the  Squire 
dropped  the  pistol  with  a  groan. 

Bassett  snatched  it  up  instantly  and  threw  open 
the  chamber.  It  was  empty. 

"  Not  loaded? "  French  asked  in  a  queer,  con- 
strained voice. 

"  Not  loaded  ? "  Mr.  Warden's  expression  was 
that  of  a  soul  receiving  its  sentence  to  hell. 
"  Not  —  " 

"  No ! "  cried  the  pirate.  "  And  it  ain't  been 
loaded,  not  for  ten  years."  * 

"  You  devil ! "  the  Squire  muttered.  He  had  no 
thought  of  French  now;  he  only  remembered  with 
shame  and  bitterness  the  times  he  had  looked  past 
that  black  muzzle  into  his  master's  uncompromising 
eye  to  quail  and  ask  for  mercy.  And  it  had  been 
empty  all  the  time!  He  thought  till  now  that  he 
had  reached  the  lowest  point  of  degradation. 

Bassett  winked  at  him.  But  instantly  his  atten- 
tion jumped  back  to  French. 

"  Steady,  boy,  steady!  "  he  cautioned  loudly. 

"  He  —  you  saw  him  —  he  tried  to  kill  me ! "  the 
261 


THE  UPPER  HAND 

man  cried  out.  "  He  did  his  best  — •  and  I  had  my 
hand  out.  He  pulled  the  trigger.  He  thought 
'twas  loaded.  You  saw  him  do  it !  " 

"Careful,  French!" 

"I  tell  you  he  tried  to  kill  me.  And  he's  goin'  to 
pay  for  it  —  good.  I  call  you  to  witness,  Cap'n," 
he  cried,  and  turned  sharply  at  a  little  noise  like  a 
sob  from  the  doorway.  Jean  was  there. 

"  You  saw  what  he  did ! "  cried  French.  "  You 
too." 

"  No !  "  shouted  the  pirate.     "  She  saw  nothing." 

But  Jean  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  "  Oh, 
uncle !  "  she  murmured.  "  I  couldn't  help  it.  Some- 
body called  me.  And  just  as  I  came  —  " 

"  He  tried  to  kill  me ! "  French  repeated.  He 
caught  up  his  hat  and  was  out  on  the  lawn  in  a  single 
movement.  "  And  Squire  Warden's  going  to  pay 
for  it,  if  there's  justice  in  Kingsford.  It'll  be  a  jail 
sentence  for  him?"  he  cried;  "and  then  — 

"  What  then?  "  asked  Bassett,  with  a  threat  in  his 
voice. 

"  There'll  be  just  one  reason  why  I  won't  prose- 
cute," French  replied.  "  There's  just  one  person 
who'll  have  the  say  —  just  one." 

"Who's  that?" 

"  It's  Jean  Wilder,"  he  replied  with  one  of  his 
flourishes.  "  That's  who  'tis."  And  he  hurried 
down  the  driveway  to  the  street,  only  to  encounter  as 
he  charged  out  of  the  gate  about  the  last  person  in 
Kingsford  he  thought  of  meeting. 


A  WAY  OUT  263 

"  He's  been  tryin'  to  shoot  me ! "  said  French 
breathlessly,  so  excited  that  he  would  have  told  his 
news  to  the  trees  in  default  of  any  other  listener. 
"  Old  Warden !  " 

The  other  caught  hold  of  him  as  he  was  dashing 
past,  but  French  twisted  out  of  his  grasp  in  a  trice. 

"  Go  'n'  see  for  yourself,"  he  panted,  as  he  fell 
away.  "  See  what  kind  of  a  story  they  tell.  See 
what  Jean  " —  here  he  came  back  and  shook  his  thin 
fiist  in  the  other's  face  — "  I've  got  'em ;  God's  put 
'em  in  my  power  now  for  good.  And  Jean  knows  it, 
my  rescuin'  friend.  She's  mine  after  this.  The  rich 
man's  down  —  to  stay  there." 

The  news  sent  Grey  along  on  the  run.  In  a  sec- 
ond all  the  angry,  resentful  thoughts  which  he  had 
brought  with  him  to  Jean's  gate  vanished  away, 
though  he  had  been  as  wrought  up  as  never  in  his 
whole  turbulent  life  at  her  failing  him  a  second 
time.  His  long  wait  in  and  about  the  Glade  had 
brought  him  pretty  far  down  into  the  depths,  and 
he  came  back  to  the  village  cursing  himself  for  a  ro- 
mantic idiot  who  had  been  rightly  served.  But  here 
was  some  trouble  in  which  Jean  was  concerned;  and 
the  angry  one  forgot  himself. 

The  scene  on  the  piazza  hardly  was  realized  —  the 
Squire  sank  in  his  chair,  the  pistol  still  on  the  table, 
Jean's  scared,  proud  face,  before  Grey  was  pounced 
on  by  the  Captain. 

"Thank  God  you  came!"  the  buccaneer  ex- 
claimed. "  It's  quick  work  now  all  'round.  Under- 


264  THE  UPPER  HAND 

stand?  I'm  in  command  here.  There's  certain 
things  as  must  be  done,  before  French  'n'  the  crowd 
comes  back.  Go  'n'  get  a  coat  'n'  hat,"  he  ordered, 
turning  to  Jean.  "  You  must,  I  say." 

"  She  must  be  got  away,"  he  said  to  Grey,  as  Jean 
withdrew,  seeming  to  be  in  a  kind  of  waking  dream. 
"  She  saw  the  old  man  try  it.  She  —  damn  it,  d'you 
think  she'd  marry  French  to  save  th'  old  un- 
cle? But  she  won't  have  to  choose.  Not  if  —  Grey, 
you'll  do  your  best?  It's  only  you  that  can  help. 
And,  Grey  —  come  out  here  further,"  he  ordered, 
"  so  the  Squire  won't  hear.  Understand  ?  "  he  asked 
fiercely,  when  he  had  whispered  two  sentences. 
"  There  she  is  now." 

"  She  must  choose,"  Grey  replied,  looking  at  the 
lovely  figure  leaning  over  the  spent  and  battered  old 
Squire. 

"  Well,  you  make  her  choose  right,"  said  Bassett. 

As  they  came  back  to  the  piazza  Jean  came  to  meet 
them,  and  the  tears  were  in  her  eyes. 

"  Go ! "  Mr.  Warden  was  saying  to  her,  and  his 
hands  gripped  tight  the  arms  of  his  chair.  "  Go 
and  stay ! " 

"  Uncle  dear ! "  she  murmured.  "  You  don't  mean 
that." 

"  I'm  through  with  you  all,"  he  rattled  on  vindic- 
tively. "  Never  any  trouble  till  you  came.  And 
now  look  at  me.  Now  look  at  —  my  God,  but  I'm 
being  made  to  pay,  for  it  all.  So  hard,  so  very 
hard!" 


A  WAY  OUT  265 

"  Leave  him  to  me,"  said  Bassett  reassuringly. 
"  I'll  see  to  him,  sweetheart." 

"  Will  you  come  with  me? "  Grey  asked  her. 
"Just  for  a  little  while?" 

"  For  a  little  while,"  she  answered  so  low  that  he 
scarcely  heard  her.  And  without  another  word  she 
came  to  his  side. 

"  The  old  place?  "  he  said  to  her. 

"  Yes,"  Jean  answered,  just  breathing  the  word. 

They  had  hardly  passed  through  the  garden  and 
down  the  lane  before  French  returned,  and  with  him 
most  of  Kingsford  village. 

So  here  was  Grey  at  Jean's  side  again;  nor  had 
the  girl  declined  his  help!  He  had  once  more 
gained  the  right  to  be  with  her;  but,  in  all  the 
time  which  followed,  Grey,  to  his  credit,  thought  not 
once  of  singing  Te  Deum  for  his  good  luck.  His 
whole  heart  went  in  pity  for  Jean,  who  had  seen  her 
old  uncle  try  to  shoot  a  man  down.  The  great 
things  which  might  come  from  his  day  with  her  the 
painter  refused  to  consider  for  a  moment;  his  only 
hope  was  to  make  a  little  easier  her  hours  of  agitation 
and  distress. 

And  he  was  afraid  of  his  task,  not  having,  as  he 
knew,  the  tactful  readiness  of  men  who  live  in  the 
world.  He  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  her/  All 
the  way  down  the  lane  he  followed  silently  at  Jean's 
side.  It  was  at  the  bar-way  that  he  spoke  first. 
Here  Jean,  silent  too,  set  a  nervous  hand  on  one  of 


266  THE  UPPER  HAND 

the  rails  to  let  it  down  for  her  passage,  not  waiting 
for  his  aid. 

"  Just  a  second !  "  Grey  exclaimed.  "  Let  me  do 
it.  The  bars  are  so  heavy ;  and  sometimes  they  get 
jammed."  He  wrenched  the  rail  loose,  and  then  two 
more,  so  making  it  possible  for  her  to  pass  through 
without  stooping.  "  That's  better." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  replied,  and  went  on,  without 
waiting  for  him  to  replace  the  bars.  He  under- 
stood, and  let  her  go,  following  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible. 

Again,  when  they  came  to  the  deep  swale  which' 
one  must  cross  to  win  the  heights  beyond,  the 
painter  showed  the  same  care  as  to  little  things.  It 
was  more  eloquent  perhaps  than  another's  fluent 
sympathy.  "  Let  me  go  ahead,"  said  Grey.  And 
with  no  further  word  he  led  the  way  into  the  narrow 
trail.  How  careful  he  was  to  put  aside  the  twigs 
and  hold  them  from  flying  back  at  her!  How  he 
kicked  aside  every  tripping  stone  which  lay  in  the 
path!  How  he  tore  down  the  tendrils  of  the  wild" 
grape  vines  which,  here  and  there  hanging  across  it, 
might  make  her  stoop  too  low!  He  set  her  across 
the  swampy  brook  and  the  fallen  spruce  log  beyond 
as  though  she  was  glass,  with  never  a  word,  but  with 
an  arm  ready  for  her  to  lean  on,  or  a  strong  hand 
to  guide  and  steady. 

They  came  to  the  high  ground,  and  paused  to 
take  breath  in  the  shade  of  a  spreading  chestnut. 

"  Would  you  like  to  rest  a   minute  ? "  the  man 


A  WAY  OUT  267 

asked.  "  It's  hard  work  coming  through  the  swamp 
on  a  hot  day." 

His  coat  was  off  and  spread  on  the  turf  in  a  sec- 
ond, and  Jean  sat  down. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  murmured.  "  You  are  very 
kind  to  me,  I  think." 

"  It's  little  enough  that  I  can  do,"  Grey  replied 
simply.  "  I  only  wish  I  could  be  of  some  real  help." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  for  the  third  time.  "  I'm 
sure  you  would,  if  there's  anything  to  do.  You 
know  what  happened  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Tell  me  he  did  right ! "  she  demanded  fiercely. 
"  I  want  to  hear  you  say  so." 

"  Of  course." 

"  You're  only  trying  to  please  me,  to  —  " 

"  It's  the  truth.     I'm  glad  he  —  " 

"  Shot  at  him?  Tried  to  kill  him?  "  asked  Jean, 
with  the  same  tragic  eagerness.  "  You  ought  to 
hate  both  of  us." 

"  You  think  it  possible  —  for  this  ?  " 

"  And  I  oughtn't  to  be  here,"  she  cried,  sudden 
tears  choking  her.  "  I  oughtn't  to  accept  your 
help."  The  next  moment  she  was  on  her  feet. 
"  I'm  going  back.  I  must."  She  faced  him,  white 
with  her  new  resolution.  "  They  mustn't  look  for 
me." 

It  was  no  easy  matter  to  persuade  her.  Again 
Jean's  sense  of  duty  made  her  hard  to  meet.  She 
could  not  play  the  coward,  she  repeated  proudly. 


268  THE  UPPER  HAND 

Against  this  Grey  contended  with  what  eloquence 
was  in  him,  but  it  was  not  till  he  flung  his  prudent 
arguments  to  the  winds  that  he  prevailed. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  he  ordered  at  length.  They  had 
descended  the  hill  by  now,  and  were  at  the  beginning 
of  the  homeward  path.  "  You  remember  what  I  told 
you  last  evening  when  —  when  I  lost  my  head  ?  " 

She  made  no  answer. 

"  You  must  believe  it  was  true.  You  must  trust 
today  to  the  man  who  loves  you,  Jean,  heart  and 
soul.  Do  you  think  I'd  tell  you  to  do  something 
wrong?  Do  you  think  I'd  let  you  so  much  as  think 
of  anything  which  was  not  for  the  best?  Trust  me 
just  a  little,  Jean.  Won't  you  trust  me?  I  don't 
ask  for  anything  more.  I  tell  you  that  there's  no 
sense  or  use  in  your  going  back.  And,  Jean,  it's 
true,"  he  cried  passionately.  "  I'd  let  you  go  this 
minute,  if  there  could  any  good  come  of  it." 

"  You're  sure?  "  she  asked. 

Again  he  pleaded  with  her,  repeating  with  new 
fervor  all  the  arguments  he  had  used  before.  "  Stay 
only  an  hour.  Till  you  hear  something  definite," 
he  begged.  "  Till  old  Bassett  comes  out." 

"  It  seems  so  cowardly,"  she  repeated. 

"  Prove  to  me  that  you  believe  I'm  your  good  and 
loyal  friend." 

"  Yes,"  sobbed  Jean.     "  I  do  believe  that,  Dana." 

"  Come  along  then,"  he  said.  "  Old  Bassett  told 
me  to  wait  at  his  house."  And  with  that  he  led  her 
along  the  ridge  to  the  north. 


A  WAY  OUT  269 

The  next  hour  passed  very  slowly.  Time  and 
again  Grey  went  from  the  pirate's  house  across  the 
clearing,  so  as  to  see  a  little  further  down  into  the 
woods;  time  and  again  Jean  asked  with  her  eyes  for 
some  news;  once  she  broke  out  into  another  resolve 
to  wait  no  longer,  but  to  go  back  and  face  the  world 
bravely. 

It  was  a  cruel  hard  hour  for  Grey.  She  had 
trusted  herself  to  him;  from  her  whole  manner  and 
bearing,  if  not  from  her  words,  the  man  divined  her 
tender  dependence  on  him,  mask  it  as  closely  as  she 
could.  But  not  by  so  much  as  a  hint  or  a  look  could 
he  tell  her  what  he  longed  for.  If  in  a  moment  of 
desperation  he  had  used  his  love  for  her  as  a  last  plea 
for  her  right-doing,  he  could  not  again.  He  could 
not  take  advantage  of  his  opportunity.  He  was 
there  as  her  guard  and  adviser,  nothing  else.  He 
had  to  hear  her  sorrowing  with  only  the  common- 
places of  comfort  and  sympathy ;  he  had  to  deprecate 
politely  her  fears  for  what  was  in  store  for  her  uncle. 
For  minutes  at  a  time  he  would  leave  her,  afraid  to 
stay  lest  he  should  betray  the  rage  in  his  heart,  for 
to  see  her  beauty  faded  by  tears,  her  spring  gone, 
the  dancing  light  in  her  eyes  dimmed,  put  Grey  be- 
side himself.  And  from  the  last  of  these  absences  he 
was  about  to  return  with  a  cry  on  his  lips  that  she 
would  play  the  runaway  with  him,  that  he  would  hide 
her,  when  the  pirate's  voice  hailed  him. 

Flushed  with  his  rough  scramble  up  the  wooded 
hillside,  breathless  from  running,  the  old  rover  stag- 


270  THE  UPPER  HAND 

gered  across  the  open  space  before  the  house  and 
dropped  on  the  bench  by  the  door. 

"  Got  her?  "  he  gasped. 

"  She's  inside." 

"Thank  God!"  ejaculated  the  pirate.  "I  was 
afraid  she'd  come  back,  or  somethin'." 

"  I  wouldn't  let  her.     She  wanted  to  go." 

"  Good  for  both  of  you !  " 

They  were  aware  then  that  Jean  stood  beside  them. 
"  Captain  Bassett  —  "  she  began. 

The  pirate  looked  up.  "  No  news,  sweetheart. 
That  is,  in  a  way.  'Cordin'  to  my  way  of  lookin' 
at  things,  things'd  be  better  the  way  they  might  'a* 
been." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  cried  Grey.  He  had 
sprung  to  Jean's  side,  on  some  vague  impulse  of  help 
should  she  need  him.  And  he  thrilled  when  he  felt 
her  hot  palm  clench  his  as  it  hung  by  his  side. 

"  I  mean,"  stammered  the  Captain,  "  I  mean  — " 

The  old  fellow  wavered  a  little  where  he  stood. 
"  Help  me,"  he  muttered.  "  Let  me  sit  down,  quick. 
I  hurried  too  fast,  I  guess." 

Together  Grey  and  the  girl  assisted  the  Captain 
to  a  seat  on  the  bench,  and  then,  quick  as  the  wind, 
she  brought  a  pail  of  the  icy  water  from  the  well, 
with  which  they  made  him  splash  his  face  and  head. 
This,  and  a  mouthful  of  brandy  which  Grey  found 
in  the  house,  freshened  him.  He  drew  a  quick  sigh, 
shook  his  head,  then  looked  up  with  a  mortified  smile. 

"  I  ain't  so  spry's  J  was,  youngsters,"  he  said,  and 


A  WAY  OUT  271 

was  going  on  when  he  became  aware  that  Jean  was 
trying  to  thank  him  for  his  good  offices. 

"  It's  so  little  that  I  can  say,"  she  faltered,  turn- 
ing to  Grey  for  help. 

"  Hear  her ! "  whispered  the  Captain,  treasuring 
the  girl's  hand  gently.  "  Jean  Wilder  thankin'  an 
old  rascal  like  me!  Don't  you  think  it's  fun  for  me 
to  do  things  or  say  things  as'll  make  you  happy, 
honey?  Aain't  I  been  tryin'  to  do  that  very  thing 
for  —  well,  it  don't  make  no  odds,"  he  concluded 
hastily,  releasing  her.  "  But  it's  for  quite  a  while." 

"  My  good  friend ! "  cried  Jean,  near  tears  again. 

"  Not  the  only  one,"  the  Captain  corrected,  with 
a  half  look  at  Grey,  who  for  a  moment  had  turned 
his  back. 

"  And  my  uncle  ?  "  demanded  Jean. 

"  Couldn't  say." 

"  I  think,"  said  Grey,  studying  the  old  man's  des- 
perate attempt  to  look  unconcerned,  "  that  you've 
something  more  to  tell." 

"  Can  I  go  back  now  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Go  back ! "  cried  the  Captain  suddenly. 
"  Where?  " 

"  Home,"  said  Jean. 

He  fell  to  studying  the  palm  of  his  left  hand. 
"  There  —  there  ain't  any  home  now,  Jean.  It's  all 
over,  sweetheart." 

"  My  uncle ! "  she  gasped,  vaguely  terrified. 

The  pirate  nodded.  "  Just  that.  He  —  he's  off 
by  now.  The  crowd  came.  He  had  the  pistol  when 


THE  UPPER  HAND 

the  dep'ty  took  him.  Honey,  I  didn't  mean  to  tell 
you  so  sudden,  but  it's  all  over,"  he  repeated  huskily. 
"  All  over.  They  was  takin'  him  away  when  I  left." 

She  did  not  fall  to  sobbing  and  crying,  as  the  two 
men  thought  she  must.  She  stood  perfectly  still  and 
silent  for  a  moment,  staring  into  the  woods,  her 
breast  rising  and  falling  like  a  stormy  sea.  Her 
hands  clasped  in  a  quick,  convulsive  gesture;  she  hid 
her  face. 

Grey's  expression  grew  stern  and  tender  both. 
"  Leave  me  alone  with  her  a  minute,"  he  whispered 
to  the  pirate. 

But  the  old  man  detained  him.  "  You  —  you'll 
do  the  right  thing?  What  I'd  do  if  I  was  young  — 
and  decenter?"  he  entreated,  almost  savagely. 
"  You'll  get  her  clear  away  ?  So  she'll  be  happy  ?  'f 

"  She  must  choose." 

"  Yes,  yes.  But,  Grey,  it's  just  got  to  be  you. 
She  can't  go  back.  She  couldn't  do  no  good.  Don't 
you  see?  Her  telling  what  she  saw'd  send  th'  old 
man  up  the  road  for  good." 

Again  the  Captain  started  to  speak,  but  could  not 
find  the  words.  Then  he  walked  away  to  the  house. 

"  Jean ! "  said  Grey,  and  waited  for  her  to  look 
up. 

He  could  have  counted  twenty  before  she  uncov- 
ered her  eyes,  and  even  then  she  kept  them  from 
him.  Her  face  was  like  marble. 

"  I  haven't  the  right  to  ask  anything.  And  it's 
unfair  to  speak  to  you  like  this  —  now  —  besides." 


273 

He  did  not  see  that  Jean  raised  her  head  ever  so  little. 
"  I  didn't  intend  to  say  a  word  when  I  took  you 
away.  But  this  isn't  a  time  for  doing  what  people 
call  the  proper  thing.  You  understood  what  the 
Captain  said,  Jean  ?  " 

No  answer. 

"And  what  it  means?" 

"  It's  so  dreary  an  end,"  she  murmured  brokenly. 
"  There  never  was  disgrace  before." 

"An  end!"  he  exclaimed.  "An  end  of  the  old 
life,  that's  all.  Jean,  dearest,  can't  you  see  this  is 
really  only  a  beginning?  Jean,"  he  cried,  and  his 
voice  strengthened,  "  you  haven't  forgotten  what  I 
said  to  you  last  night.  You  listened  to  me,"  the  man 
cried.  "  But  you  made  no  answer." 

She  looked  up.     "  I  couldn't  answer,  Dana." 

"  But  now  —  ?  " 

"  My  best  friend ! "  said  Jean  simply,  and  smiled 
up  at  him  just  a  little,  like  a  glimpse  of  sunshine 
through  mist. 

The  Captain  broke  in  on  them.  "  I  saw  it  all," 
he  announced,  smiling  too.  "  You'll  go  with  him?  " 
he  asked  of  Jean,  with  an  odd  hurry  and  tremor 
under  his  question. 

"  If  he  will  take  me,"  she  replied.  A  soB  choked 
her.  "  I've  nobody  in  the  world  now." 

"Not  that!"  cried  the  Captain.  "Jean,  don't 
think  that,  honey  I  ain't  very  virtuous,  but,  Jean, 
I'm  one  as'll  give  his  old  life  to  pleasure  you.  And 
I'm  goin'  to,  may  be.  Jean,  you're  goin'  away  — 


274  THE  UPPER  HAND 

and,  Grey,  you  see  there  ain't  no  delay  nor  bother  — 
and  you  won't  never  see  me  no  more." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  cried,  moved  by  the  old  renegade's 
clumsy  emotion.  "  Of  course  I  shall.  But,  oh,  I 
must  go  back ;  I  can't  be  disloyal ! " 

"  I  say  no !  "  The  Captain  smote  his  fist  into  his 
palm.  "  I've  done  my  level  best  for  you.  And  I 
tell  you  the  truth.  It's  over  now,  all  by  an'  finished. 
If  you  go  back,  you'll  be  a  witness.  Who  for?  The 
state,  I  reckon.  Without  you  it's  self-defense. 
D'you  want  to  send  th'  old  man  to  jail?  Or  do  you 
want  to  keep  French  offn  him  by  marryin'  him  ?  " 

There  was  something  pitiable  in  the  old  rascal's 
bearing  and  in  his  shaky  voice.  Jean  looked  at  Grey 
doubtfully. 

"  Captain's  right,"  he  said.  "  You  must  keep 
away,  Jean.  You  must.  I  —  " 

"  One  thing  more,"  the  Captain  went  on  rapidly. 
He  took  from  his  pocket  a  slip  of  paper  directed  to 
her.  "Take  this.  Will  you,  Jean ?"  She  started 
to  unfold  it.  "Not  yet.  When  I'm  gone.  It's 
only  just  a  present." 

"  I'll  keep  it  always,  Captain." 

"Promise?" 

"  It'll  remind  me  of  a  very  kind  and  good  old 
man,"  she  answered. 

The  Captain  hesitated  a  moment,  then  looked  at 
Grey.  "  Remember  that  I  trust  you,  boy.  Will 
you  ?  Remember  that  she's  worth,  well  —  how 
much?  More'n  you  can  guess,  most  likely.  I  know. 


A  WAY  OUT  275 

I've  watched  careful,  Grey.  Not  money,  but  good- 
ness." 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Jean. 

"  It's  forever,  sweetheart." 

Before  she  could  answer,  the  old  pirate  touched 
her  cheek  with  his  lips,  and  then,  with  a  kind  of  cry, 
hurried  across  the  clearing  and  plunged  into  the 
woods. 


XX 

IN  THE  OPEN 

4  4 'mil  THAT  did  he  mean?  Who  is  he?" 
cried  Jean,  when  the  noise  of  the  old 
man's  footsteps  on  the  leaves  and  dry 
fallen  twigs  had  ceased.  "  What  made  him  kiss 
me?  " 

Grey  was  as  surprised  as  Jean  herself,  for  the 
pirate  dealt  with  her  not  at  all  with  his  usual  air  of 
vulgar  gallantry.  There  was  something  both  digni- 
fied and  tender,  there  was  a  sort  of  benediction,  in 
the  way  he  had  kissed  the  girl.  And  brazen  it  as 
he  would,  the  old  man  had  not  been  able  to  conceal 
a  sorrow  that  seemed  very  real  when  he  turned  from 
them  to  plunge  into  the  woods. 

"  You  did  not  mind  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  That  was  the  queerest  thing  about  it.  The  old 
rogue  seemed  to  have  a  right  to.  Any  way,  he's 
been  a  good  friend  today,  Jean." 

"  Yes,  yes."  She  hid  her  face  on  Grey's  shoulder 
as  if  to  hide  from  all  that  the  day  had  shown  of 
horror  and  sorrow.  "  It  was  so  dreadful.  Oh, 
Dana,  I  couldn't  do  that.  Even  for  my  uncle.  Tell 
me  that  I'm  doing  right.  Oh,  Dana,  take  me  away 
from  that  man." 

276 


IN  THE  OPEN  277, 

He  caught  her  closer  in  his  embrace.  "  The  past 
is  past,  sweetheart" 

Jean  looked  up  at  him.  "  You  will  be  very  good 
to  me?  I'm  all  alone,  Dana." 

"  Trust  me,"  he  replied  huskily.  "  My  very  best, 
Jean." 

A  moment  longer  she  hung  about  his  neck,  study- 
ing his  eyes.  Then,  leaning  up  to  him,  she  kissed 
him. 

Imperceptibly  the  shadow  of  the  forest  crept  half 
way  across  the  clearing.  The  day  went  by,  yet  they 
perceived  nothing  of  its  passing.  They  were  to- 
gether and  far  from  the  world,  tasting  the  top  of  the 
cup  of  happiness.  Small  wonder  that  it  was  ever  so 
long  before  either  of  them  thought  to  remember  all 
the  Captain's  injunctions.  He  had  directed  them  to 
get  away  at  once,  but  they  lingered  till  Grey's  watch 
marked  four  o'clock  and  after. 

"  But  listen,"  Grey  said  at  length,  "  we  must  start 
now.  This  minute." 

Jean  sprang  up.     "Which  way?" 

Grey  laughed  from  sheer  delight.  They  had  only 
the  clothes  on  their  backs  and  fifteen  dollars  in  his 
pocket  book;  adventures  of  all  kinds  might  be  in 
store  for  them;  their  whole  runaway  project  had  not 
a  smack  of  reason  about  it;  but  he  welcomed  it  like 
a  boy. 

"  Whichever  way  the  head  of  the  stick  falls,"  he 
replied,  setting  up  his  cane  on  end.  "  Watch ! " 
The  stick  tottered  and  fell. 


278  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  East !  "  cried  Jean.  "  That's  as  it  should  be.  I 
think  the  world's  best  lies  over  there  beyond  the  last 
of  the  Ledges.  It's  where  the  sun  comes  from,  you 
know." 

"  And  New  Liverpool's  there  too.  Which  means 
the  bank  and  some  money  for  us.  Perhaps  we'd  best 
hurry  a  little,"  he  added,  again  consulting  his  watch. 
"  We  can  catch  the  way  train  at  Pequod." 

As  they  struck  into  the  overgrown  wood  road 
which  led  from  Captain  Bassett's  dwelling  to  the 
highway  over  beyond  the  forest,  Grey  outlined  his 
plan  for  their  escape,  for  so  they  persisted  in  calling 
it.  They  were  to  board  the  train  at  Pequod,  stop 
over  night  at  New  Liverpool  in  a  little  place  he  knew 
of  where  they  could  dodge  anyone  who  might  know 
them.  Next  morning  he  would  go  to  the  bank. 

"  Also  to  the  jeweller's,"  said  Gray  sententiously. 

Jean  looked  up  in  surprise,  caught  unawares. 

"  Then,"  he  went  on,  ignoring  her,  "  to  the  town 
clerk's,  then  to  the  parson's." 

She  stopped  his  chattering.     "  Really  ?  " 

"  Just  that,"  said  Grey.  "  That  is,  if  the  young 
lady's  willing." 

"We  forgot  the  Captain's  present,  Dana,"  said 
Jean,  stopping  short  when  they  were  a  good  way 
down  the  forest  road. 

"  Let  it  go,"  he  replied.     "  We're  late  now,  Jean." 

"  Oh,  no.  Please  not.  It  won't  need  any  time  to 
find  it.  And  I'd  feel  so  ungrateful  not  to  take  i£ 
Please  come  back." 


279 

She  was  very  earnest  in  her  pleading,  and  dearer, 
thought  Grey,  than  ever,  because  she  remembered  to 
do  what  the  old  pirate  had  asked  of  her.  So,  though 
he  reckoned  that  the  gift  would  but  scantily  reward 
them  for  the  lost  time,  the  painter  assented.  They 
hurried  back  up  the  road  and  turned  into  the  woods 
at  the  rock  with  the  white  arrow  painted  on  it,  just 
as  their  hastily  consulted  slip  of  directions  bade 
them.  A  few  feet  further,  half  hidden  in  the  coarse 
ferns,  which  grew  rankly,  they  found  a  pair  of  white 
birch  saplins  carefully  trimmed  and  laid  V-shaped 
together. 

"  He's  a  picturesque  pirate  "  quoth  Grey.  "  Now 
what,  Jean  ?  " 

She  read  from  the  paper.  "  *  Ten  paces  straight 
from  the  birches,  then  eight  right  to  the  loose  pink 
stone,'  it  says.  I'm  sure  it's  treasure,  Dana." 

"  It  ought  to  be."  But  for  all  his  indifference, 
the  man  enjoyed  himself  hugely.  It  seemed  a  piece 
of  the  day's  doings  to  spend  precious  moments  hunt- 
ing for  a  mythical  present  from  a  half  mad  but 
benevolent  Captain  Kidd.  With  scrupulous  care, 
Jean  counting  with  him,  Grey  measured  off  his  dis- 
tance, then  turned  to  the  right  for  eight  paces  more. 
At  the  last  step  he  found  underfoot,  deep  down  in 
the  crushed  brakes  and  half  buried  in  loose  earth,  a 
slab  of  shiny  pink  four-square  granite  from  the 
quarry  over  the  river.  Their  hands  met  on  it. 

"  Lift  it,  Dana." 

The  man  got  hold  of  one  edge,  straightened  back, 


280  THE  UPPER  HAND 

and  tilted  the  stone  back  from  its  bed.  There  was 
disclosed  underneath  a  square  object,  wrapped  tight 
in  white  oilcloth  and  corded  round  and  round. 

"  See  the  writing !  "  Jean  cried.  "  What  does  it 
say  ?  " 

"  It's  for  you.     Look  here !  " 

Sure  enough,  in  one  corner  Jean's  name  was 
printed  with  many  flourishes,  and  in  another,  less 
elaborately  portrayed,  was  this  inscription :  —  In 
this  is  to  Wit.  1.  Help  in  time  of  trouble.  2.  An 
Angel.  3.  A  Thing  for  Cold  Days.  All  for  Her 
and  D.  G.  if  she  Wants  to  Give  Him  Any. 

Grey  was  indignant.  "  What  rubbish !  Chuck  it 
down,  Jean,  and  come  on." 

"  Leave  my  present  ?  I  will  carry  it  wherever  I 
go.  No,  indeed,"  she  cried,  as  Grey  tried  to  take 
the  bundle. 

And  there  was  nothing  for  Grey  to  do  but  to  fol- 
low at  her  side  down  the  wood-road,  which  now  was 
in  twilight. 

For  some  time  they  hurried  along.  Every  few 
minutes  Grey  consulted  his  watch,  and  came  to  smile 
rather  dubiously  in  answer  to  Jean's  unasked  ques- 
tion. They  had  covered  about  three  miles  along  the 
highway;  they  were  just  pn  the  last  stretch  to  the 
little  flag-station,  when  they  heard  the  whistle,  and 
then  the  roar  of  the  train  as  it  swept  through.  Two 
minutes  more  would  have  done  their  business. 

"  Let's  think  it  out,"  said  Grey.  "  We  can  rest  a 
while  now."  And,  so  saying,  he  led  the  way  to  the 


IN  THE  OPEN  281 

side  of  the  road,  Jean  following  without  a  word. 
She  dropped  on  the  grass  with  a  little  sigh. 
"  Tired?  "  asked  the  man. 

"  Not  a  bit." 

Her  courage  was  near  bringing  tears  to  his  eyes. 
She  had  come  through  the  fire;  not  a  moment  since 
morning  but  had  meant  much  to  her,  either  for  sor- 
row or  fright,  or  for  heady  happiness ;  she  had  eaten 
nothing,  she  had  traversed  rough  trails  and  dusty 
highway.  But  still  she  had  a  smile  for  him  when 
he  tried  clumsily  to  sympathize. 

"  I  have  you,"  she  whispered,  nestling  close. 
"  And  I  still  bear  the  Captain's  present." 

"  Which  reminds  me  that  our  honest  train  is  now 
some  miles  away  and  running  easily."  He  felt  her 
draw  away  from  his  clasp  ever  so  little,  and  she 
looked  down.  "  But  I'm  not  sorry  a  bit,  after  all," 
Grey  added  hastily. 

She  came  back  to  him.     "  Truly?  " 

**  I  mean  it.  I've  a  better  plan,  if  you  want  to 
try  it." 

To  enter  the  crowded  car  would  have  meant  meet- 
ing anybody  and  everybody  from  Kingstford.  Could 
they  have  slipped  off  early  in  ihe  day,  this  would 
have  made  no  difference;  but  nW>  v/iih  the  whole 
village  ringing  with  the  news  of  the  Squire's  arrest, 
with  the  probable  search  for  her  already  under  way, 
it  was  imperative  that  Jean  should  not  be  recognized. 
It  would  be  better  to  keep  close  to  the  open  country, 
and  avoid  as  far  as  they  could  the  places  where  Miss 


282  THE  UPPER  HAND 

Wilder  was  well  known.  They  must  run  for  it  now, 
and  — 

"  The  open !  "  cried  Jean,  interrupting. 

"  Just  for  a  little  while."  Grey  thought  he  had 
frightened  her. 

"  The  gipsy  life !  A  real  runaway !  It  would  be 
the  very  best.  O  man  of  mine,  if  you  knew  how  I've 
longed  for  it !  Can  we  really  go  'cross  country  ?  " 

She  had  dreamed  of  this  so  often,  and  so  often 
had  been  caught  back  to  shelter  and  dull  comfort, 
that  what  the  painter  suggested  seemed  incredible. 
She  had  in  secret,  while  loving  the  man's  cherishing 
thought  of  her,  demurred  at  his  program  of  trains 
and  a  hotel,  and  the  streets  of  the  town.  There  she 
would  meet  some  one  who  would  remind  her  of  what 
was  behind,  she  would  see  a  newspaper,  she  might 
have  to  spend  an  hour  or  so  of  loneliness  and  fright, 
prisoned  in  a  room,  while  Grey  went  abroad  on  his 
errands.  But  she  looked  out  over  the  darkening 
countryside  with  a  sense  of  coming  joy.  Alone  with 
her  lover  under  the  smiling  stars,  alone  with  him  over 
some  bread  and  milk  at  the  farmhouse  door;  the  lazy 
rest  through  the  noon  hours  in  this  bower  or  under 
that  arching  roof  i  of  ancient  trees,  the  watch-and- 
watch  through  the  calm  night  —  all  this  first,  and 
then  the  guarded  secret  of  their  sailing,  with  Europe 
yonder  —  their  land!  She  could  not  speak  for  her 
hope  of  happpiness. 

"  And  we'll  start  now,"  Grey  was  saying.  "  If 
you're  not  too  tired.  We'll  beg  a  lodging  at  a 


IN  THE  OPEN  283 

good-looking  farmhouse  just  like  tramps.  And  to- 
morrow — " 

"  Never  mind  tomorrow,"  she  murmured. 

Grey  had  not  chosen  his  course  entirely  at  ran- 
dom. He  felt  very  keenly  the  responsibility,  and 
planned  each  step,  as  he  thought  with  scrupulous 
care.  It  would  be  best,  he  decided,  to  spend  the 
night  at  some  friendly  farmer's,  passing  themselves 
off  as  brother  and  sister  on  a  walking  trip  along  the 
Sound.  They  could  fetch  New  Liverpool  the  next 
day:  he  could  hide  Jean  at  Ransom's,  the  painter 
who  had  a  box  of  a  house  up  back  of  the  town.  So, 
a  stage  at  a  time,  they  could  make  Boston  in  time 
for  the  Cunard  boat.  He  tramped  along,  breath- 
ing deep  the  joy  of  the  hour,  bewitched  —  as  who 
may  not  be  that  loves  the  best  of  the  young  world? 
—  by  the  spell  of  the  free  road,  of  the  evening  air, 
so  cool  and  heady  after  the  drugging  day,  of  the 
girl's  presence  who  walked  by  his  side. 

Lights  shining  in  the  occasional  houses,  and  the 
fading  of  the  sky  from  gold  to  violet,  brought  them 
down  to  a  more  sober  sense  of  reality.  But  even 
here  was  food  for  romance.  They  made  a  thousand 
speculations  as  to  what  might  happen  when  they 
asked  for  shelter;  on  this  or  that  pretext  they  voted 
against  the  first  two  houses  they  passed;  but  at  the 
third,  which  was  big  and  square  and  neat,  with  barns 
stretching  away  behind  it,  they  decided  to  try  their 
luck. 

"  I  know  all  about  'em  here,"  Grey  declared,  "  I 


£84  THE  UPPER  HAND 

did  some  sketches  up  yonder  in  the  woods  last  sum- 
mer." 

"  Let's  try  then." 

The  side  door  opened  a  crack  at  Grey's  knock, 
letting  out  a  gush  of  yellow  light;  and  a  woman's 
voice  demanded  his  business. 

"  I  want  to  know  if  I  can  put  up  here  over  night," 
he  said,  in  his  silkiest  tones.  "  A  room  in  the  house 
for  —  for  my  sister  here.  And  perhaps  I  could 
sleep  in  the  barn." 

"Tramps,  be  ye?" 

*'  Yes,"  Jean's  voice  replied  jubilantly  from  the 
darkness. 

"  Perhaps,"  Grey  hastened  to  interpose,  "  you  re- 
member me.  I  did  some  painting  here,  and  — " 

"  That  ain't  so,"  the  woman  retorted  mildly. 
"  We  always  have  Mr.  Hosley  from  Pequod.  And 
the  place  ain't  been  touched  in  two  years." 

"  We're  tramps  —  gypsies,  begging  a  night's 
lodging."  Jean  spoke  with  a  kind  of  elation. 

**  Tramps  ain't  any  business  —  not  here." 

The  woman's  tone  had  no  anger  in  it,  only  a  mild 
reproof.  And  perhaps  it  was  this,  as  well  as  the 
fact  that  she  was  little  and  fondled  all  through  the 
parley  a  comfortable  cat  lying  in  her  arms,  which 
suddenly  induced  Jean  to  emerge  from  the  shadows 
and  push  into  the  little  kitchen.  Grey  saw  her  teeth 
flash  in  the  lamplight  as  she  smiled.  In  total  amaze 
the  little  old  lady  faced  her.  . 

"  I  don't  know's  I  asked  you  in." 


IN  THE  OPEN  285 

"  You  would  have,  if  you  understood."  Jean, 
towering  above  the  other,  set  her  hands  lightly  on 
her  shoulders,  studied  her  for  a  second,  then  glanced 
back  at  Grey  waiting  dumbly  on  the  threshold.  She 
whispered  in  the  old  lady's  ear. 

"You  don't  mean  it!" 

Again  Jean  whispered,  then  released  her  hold  with 
a  little  laugh  which  changed  to  a  look  of  real  en- 
treaty. 

"Elopin',  be  ye?" 

"  Runaways,"  said  Jean.  She  turned  away  as  she 
added :  "  From  so  much  sorrow." 

"  Elopin',"  repeated  Mrs.  Patterson.  "  Think  it's 
quite  respectable  ?  " 

They  took  courage  as  her  eyes  kindled  into  3im 
mirth ;  and  Grey  came  in,  bearing  the  pirate's  clumsy 
gift. 

Slowly  they  won  their  way  through  the  hour  which 
followed,  but  at  length  the  old  lady's  inquiry  slack- 
ened, and,  still  with  a  show  of  reluctance,  she  made 
off  to  prepare  the  room  she  had  promised  Jean  should 
have.  As  for  Grey,  she  would  none  of  him.  He 
might  camp  in  the  hay-mow. 

Left  alone,  the  lovers  slipped  out  doors  again  from 
the  hot  kitchen;  and  for  another  hour  they  lingered 
looking  across  the  broad  country  side  from  the  door- 
step. 

**  This  is  best,"  Jean  whispered  in  the  darkness. 

"Not  afraid?" 


286  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"With  you  near  me?"  The  answer,  a  challenge 
to  the  world,  warmed  him  like  a  cordial. 

"  I'm  little  enough,  sweetheart." 

"  Hush,  hush !  The  life  outdoors  and  —  you, 
Dana.  Such  a  happy  ending." 

"  And  it  is  an  end,"  he  promised. 

"  Oh,  it  must  be !  No  more  of  this  old  world  for 
us,  Dana;  no  more  living  except  for  you  and  me 
alone.  It  will  be  different  somehow?  Simpler  and 
gentler,  dearest?  As  we  are  now.  Quiet  stars  and 
quiet  air.  Oh,  the  outdoor  world  and  the  things  like 
it  are  so  dear  to  me ! "  Her  voice  trembled  like  the 
echo  of  a  silver  chime. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  whispered. 

"  A  blessing,"  Jean  suddenly  whispered,  very 
soberly.  But  his  heart  was  too  full  for  reply.  Si- 
lently he  knelt  beside  her  as  she  bowed  her  head,  and 
looked  up  into  the  vast  reaches  of  the  sky.  And  so 
the  day  ended,  the  first  of  their  lover-life. 


XXI 

JOURNEY'S  END 

WHAT  started  him  from  his  uneasy  sleep 
that  morning  after  their  runaway  Grey 
could  not  tell,  but  he  was  aware  of  a 
steady  breeze  with  a  touch  of  chill  in  it  sweeping 
through  the  dusty  hayloft  the  moment  he  sat  up. 
Outdoors  he  looked  to  the  east ;  and  saw  there  a  pale- 
ness barred  with  horizontal  clouds.  Loosening  his 
collar,  he  splashed  his  head  and  face  in  the  icy  water 
he  drew  from  the  well.  Some  vigorous  gymnastics 
brought  the  kinks  out  of  his  shoulders  and  hips ;  and 
he  made  a  queer  figure,  stooping,  swinging  his  arms, 
like  a  windmill,  and  finally  running  at  top  speed  the 
length  of  the  yard  and  back,  all  in  the  face  of  the 
solemn  dawn. 

The  grey  streaks  grew  white,  then  faintest  rose. 
The  birds  commenced  singing  like  mad  things. 
Loath  to  disturb  his  companion,  even  though  the  day 
was  come  and  they  were  to  be  early  afoot,  the  painter, 
his  exercise  over,  perched  on  the  fence  at  some  little 
distance.  He  was  traitorously  content  to  wait  a  few 
minutes.  Nay,  he  even  prayed  that  Jean  would  sleep 
on.  And  this  was  because  he  found  the  sunrise  be- 
hind the  clouds  to  be  what  his  tribe  calls  in  the 

287 


288  THE  UPPER  HAND 

patronizing  way  "  interesting,"  and  the  silhouette  of 
the  thin  screen  of  hemlock  against  the  eastern  glory 
"  decorative."  So  on  the  back  of  an  envelope  he 
set  about  noting  roughly  with  a  pencil  tones  and 
values  subtly  divided,  mere  hieroglyphics  to  the  lay- 
man, but  to  him  a  picture  in  the  making;  and  on  the 
front  he  made  a  drawing  of  the  hemlocks'  pattern. 
This  he  could  not  help  doing  because  he  was  a  land- 
scape painter  of  parts  as  well  as  guide  and  lover  to 
Jean  Wilder. 

It  was  the  change  of  the  sky's  color  which  brought 
his  occupation  to  a  close  as  much  as  Jean's  call. 

"  I  didn't  wish  to  disturb  you,  sir." 

He  made  many  apologies,  but  she  would  have  none 
of  them. 

"  If  you  had  missed  the  sunrise,  you'd  have  been 
false  to  your  vows.  That's  the  delightful  thing 
about  us.  Your  first  love,  which  is  painting,  and 
your  —  your  new  love  can  live  together  in  the  nicest 
way  in  the  world.  It's  a  very  pleasant  arrangement; 
though  unusual,"  Jean  remarked.  "  And  now,"  she 
added,  "  tell  me  what's  going  to  happen  next." 

She  seemed  so  entirely  rested  (indeed  she  confessed 
that  she  had  slept  in  her  queer  little  room  without 
stirring  the  whole  night  long),  that  Grey  made  no 
scruples  of  telling  her  the  plan  of  campaign  he  had 
outlined  for  the  day,  long  as  the  march  and  vexatious 
as  the  various  obstacles  might  well  seem  to  be.  They 
must  make  for  New  Liverpool  of  course,  since  there 
Grey  could  touch  his  money;  but  the  town  was  not 


JOURNEY'S  END  289 

much  short  of  twenty  miles  away;  they  must  avoid 
observation  as  far  as  possible,  this  day  of  all  others, 
since  the  morning  papers  would  print  prominently 
their  runaway  and  the  tragic  happenings  of  the  day 
before;  the  eyes  of  all  the  curious  world,  if  not  those 
of  the  police  itself,  would  fix  themselves  too  readily 
on  any  vagrant  couple,  especially  where  the  girl  was 
very  beautiful  and  the  man  big  even  in  a  crowd. 

"  Can  you  stand  it?  "  Grey  asked,  doubtful  after 
all. 

"  Of  course.  I've  done  as  much  as  that  in  a  day 
more  times  than  I  can  count.  And,  really,  I  feel 
just  as  fresh  as  can  be." 

There  was  a  pause  for  breakfast;  there  followed  a 
somewhat  breathless  leave-taking  of  their  ancient 
hostess,  whom  mystification,  fear,  and  a  love  of  the 
girl's  gentleness,  had  rendered  by  turns  officiously 
curious  and  entirely  speechless.  They  beat  a  retreat 
down  the  road. 

"  Now,"  Jean  declared,  coming  to  a  halt  at  a  place 
where  a  great  elm  shadowed  their  way,  "  we  must 
open  Captain  Bassett's  present." 

"Think  best,  Jean?" 

"  I  must  see  what's  inside  this  oilcloth  wrapping. 
He  said  I  could,  you  know,  today." 

Without  waiting  for  Grey's  permission,  which  per- 
haps was  wise,  for  he  regarded  the  scenery  with  puck- 
ered brow,  Jean  set  about  untying  the  knots  in  the 
heavy  cord ;  and,  though  they  were  many,  it  was  only 
a  minute  before  the  last  of  them  was  picked  and 


290  THE  UPPER  HAND 

twitched  loose  and  the  oilcloth  cover  unfolded.  Grey 
swore  in  sheer  surprise  at  what  was  revealed  to  them. 

"  His  treasure  chest ! "  he  exclaimed,  sinking  to 
his  knees  beside  the  girl. 

"  Here's  the  key,"  she  said,  trying  to  speak  at 
ease,  "  tied  to  the  handle." 

It  was  the  same  mahogany  box  which  the  old 
rascal  had  unearthed  for  them  in  his  cellar  that  after- 
noon on  the  Ledges.  They  had  had  only  a  glimpse 
then;  but  it  was  impossible  to  mistake  the  dark  rich 
wood,  the  heavy  corners  and  hinges  of  bright  brass, 
and  the  slit  in  the  top  of  the  handle. 

"  You  open  it,"  Jean  begged,  handing  him  the 
key. 

"  No,  no.  It's  yours.  Don't  you  remember  what 
he  said  that  day  when  he  showed  it  to  us?  But," 
Grey  added,  with  an  air  of  doubt  not  too  convincing, 
"  I  fancy  that  it's  like  most  pirates'  treasure,  real 
only  in  the  story-books." 

"  Oh ! "  she  cried.  "  That  is  sucli  calumny.  I 
believe  in  my  old  admirer."  Here  she  held  the  lid 
down  with  both  hands.  "  Guess !  "  she  ordered. 

"  It  may  be  diamonds,  or  canned  salmon,  or  as- 
sorted liquors,  or — " 

"  Look  then ! "  throwing  back  the  cover  suddenly. 
"  Which  is  it?" 

"  Good  Heavens !  "  muttered  the  painter.  "I  — 
I  apologize." 

The  sight  of  the  chest's  contents  was  indeed  enough 
to  surprise  anyone.  Stretched  across  it  diagonally 


JOURNEY'S  END  291 

lay  a  bottle  of  California  brandy,  with  the  glorious 
label  of  its  makers  flashing  up  at  the  runaways  in 
gold  and  black ;  on  one  side  of  it  a  red  book  ruled  for 
accounts  was  tucked  in ;  on  the  other  lay  a  flat,  small 
pasteboard  box  with  a  couple  of  rubber  bands  around 
it.  And  underneath,  a  bed  for  the  other  things, 
was  spread,  in  the  wildest  confusion,  a  litter  of  bank 
notes  —  tens,  twenties,  fifties,  with  a  couple  of  buck- 
skin bags,  which  jingled  when  they  were  displaced. 

"  It's  some  mistake.     He  never  meant  — " 

"  It's  here,"  Grey  retorted,  "  addressed  to  you." 

"  But  I  can't  take  it."  Jean  ran  her  hand  under 
the  layers  of  bills.  "  There  must  be  five  hundred 
dollars  at  least.  I  can't  accept  anything  like  that 
from  —  him." 

"  Suppose,"  said  Grey,  drawing  a  long  breath, 
"  we  look  in  the  little  pasteboard  box.  Possibly  — " 

"  Very  well."     And  she  had  it  open  in  a  jiffy. 

There  were  two  enclosures.  From  the  first,  which 
was  a  closely  twisted  knot  of  soiled  white  tissue  paper, 
Jean  drew  out  a  pair  of  gold  earrings  of  old  fash- 
ioned design,  and  on  these  she  gazed  with  an  absorp- 
tion Grey  could  hardly  understand.  At  length  she 
glanced  up,  and  her  face  was  blank  with  amazement. 

"  My  cross ! "  she  stammered.  "  Look,  Dana." 
At  her  neck  she  was  in  the  habit  of  wearing  a  tiny 
cross,  sometimes  pinned,  sometimes  dangling  from  a 
delicate  little  chain;  a  decoration  which  seemed 
quaintly  ecclesiastical  for  her  youth  and  full  blooded 
beauty.  But  Grey  could  not  remember  ever  to  have 


292  THE  UPPER  HAND 

seen  her  without  it;  she  set  some  special  store  by  the 
little  bauble.  "Don't  they  match?" 

She  held  the  earring  up  under  her  chin  beside  the 
cross,  and,  sure  enough,  it  was  easy  to  see  that  once 
the  two  pieces  had  formed  one  set. 

"  The  cross  was  my  mother's,"  Jean  whispered. 

Neither  of  them  dared  to  hazard  the  guess  which 
trembled  on  their  lips.  "  What's  in  the  other  pack- 
age?" asked  Grey. 

It  was  a  photograph  of  a  young  woman,  faded 
and  battered,  but  Jean  herself,  you  would  swear, 
tricked  out  in  the  stiff  and  curious  clothes  of  an  older 
generation, —  Jean  herself,  except  that  the  eyes  were 
sadder,  the  mouth  and  chin  rather  feeble. 

"  There's  some  writing  on  the  back,"  the  painter 
observed. 

In  a  delicate,  running  hand,  the  ink  turned  brown 
and  rusty,  was  inscribed :  "  Martinique,  November, 
1875;  "  and  below  this,  rough  and  sprawling,  though 
apparently  traced  with  laborious  care,  some  one  had 
written :  "  Jean  Wilder's  Mother.  Attest  him  that 
knows  most  about  it.  Handle  with  care." 

"My  mother!"  cried  Jean  softly,  just  touching 
the  faded  image  with  her  lips.  "  I've  never  seen  her, 
Dana." 

"Dead?"  he  asked. 

"  Long  ago.     When  I  was  a  little  baby." 

He  waited  a  moment,  pretending  to  count  some  of 
the  money  in  the  box.  "  Your  father's  dead  too, 
Jean,  I  understand." 


JOURNEY'S  END  293 

"  Just  after  I  was  brought  to  Uncle  Andrew's. 
He  died  at  sea." 

Still  Grey  played  with  the  bills.  "  So  I've  always 
heard,"  he  said.  "  Old  Bassett  must  have  been  some 
friend  or  other." 

For  a  moment  nothing  was  said,  Jean  still  study- 
ing the  photograph,  while  Grey  picked  up  the  little 
red  account  book. 

"  There  may  be  something  here,"  he  said. 

"  I  hope  so.     Open  it,  Dana." 

Page  after  page  was  blotted  with  what  was  ap- 
parently entries  of  moneys  received,  with  the  date 
and  an  occasional  note,  two  items  only  on  each  page. 
They  ran  over  several  years,  the  dates  at  first  wide 
apart;  but  toward  the  last  there  was  an  entry  for 
nearly  every  week.  "  June  18  from  sale  of  C.  P.  R. 
stock  (so  he  said)  3700  dols.  A  good  day,"  one  of 
them  ran.  An  earlier  entry,  some  years  back,  was 
as  f  ollows :  "  Explained  about  Jean.  21$  dols. 
Burned  him  good  on  the  arm." 

"  That  was  the  time  I  came  to  uncle,"  she  whis- 
pered excitedly.  "  Turn  over  to  the  end,  Dana. 
Quick." 

"  All  in,"  the  last  page  ran.  "  Total,  25793.28 
dols.  Her  share.  Nearly  done  up,  but  he  didn't 
get  the  box." 

"  He  fought,  perhaps?  He  did  all  this  for  me?  " 
she  asked,  trying  to  understand. 

"  He  had  your  uncle  where  he  wanted  him,  ap~ 
parently." 


294  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  Is  there  any  more?  " 

Grey  turned  the  leaf.  "  Poetry !  "  he  exclaimed. 
And  sure  enough,  carefully  written  on  pencilled  lines, 
the  capital  letters  shaded,  were  inscribed  these  verses: 

TO  JEAN 

The  time  has  come  when  I  must  go 

And  leave  these  scenes  of  Joy. 

I  have  fixed  things  up  the  way  they  ought  to  be 

For  the  girl  (it  might  have  been  a  boy). 

These  acc'ts  make  you  square  with  Uncle  A  — . 
The  money's  all  Yours,  I  hope  you  will  enjoy  it, 
He  owed  it  to  you  and  he  had  to  pay 
What  was  your  just  due  every  last  bit. 

And  so  Good-bye,  I  must  depart 

Probably  never  to  return  a  gam. 

I  am  not  virtuous  but  I  have  a  kind  heart 

And  do  not  wish  to  give  pain. 

rtt' 

To  Jean  the  dear  young  lady  fine 

I  now  must  say  farewell 

On  February  Fourteenth  you  are  my  Valentine 

And  at  other  times  the  same  as  well. 

Your  affect.  Friend, 

Leonidas. 

"  That  tells  us  almost  everything,"  Grey  declared, 
handing  Jean  the  book.  "  It's  an  inheritance  — 


JOURNEY'S  END  295 

just  like  a  story !  The  old  Squire  kept  it  back  from 
you  somehow,  and  the  pirate  — " 

"  Captain  Bassett !  "  said  Jean. 

Grey  colored;  but  she  was  hardly  fair  to  him,  he 
thought. 

"  Won  it  back  for  you.  I'll  bet  that  queer  busi- 
ness with  French  came  into  it  somehow  too.  But 
why  should  he  work  that  way  for  you?  Jean,  he 
can't  be  your  father !  " 

"  Of  course  not !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  My  father 
was  very  different.  But  this  dear  old  Captain!  So 
loyal  and  brave!  So  poor  and  shabby,  but  keeping 
it  all  for  me!  Probably  it  was  money  that  Uncle 
Warden  kept  from  my  father."  She  sprang  up 
"  I  must  go  back.  I  must  thank  him.  I  —  I  can't 
leave  him  without  a  word,  Dana." 

In  all  the  days  that  followed  Grey  never  had  to 
strive  with  her  as  on  that  morning.  Impetuous, 
quixotic,  headstrong,  in  doing  that  which  a  generous 
impulse  declared  was  a  duty,  Jean  was  all  for  going 
back  to  Kingsford  and  the  pirate's  side;  nor  could 
the  painter  prevail  until  he  took,  as  once  before,  an 
unfair  advantage. 

"  You  do  not  wish  me  to  go !  "  she  exclaimed  after 
him,  breathlessly.  "  You  wouldn't  come  between  me 
and  my  good  friend?  My  father's  friend?" 

His  eyes  met  hers.  She  stood  for  a  moment  in 
tremulous  silence.  "  I  need  not  forget  him  ?  "  she 
asked  gently.  "  Even  though  —  ?  " 


296  THE  UPPER  HAND 

He  was  mastered  in  turn.  "  Don't  I  owe  him  mj^ 
happiness,  Jean  ?  " 

"  I  am  content,"  she  whispered,  as  he  took  her  in 
his  arms.  "  If  you  and  he  both  wish  it."  But  her 
lips  trembled  and  her  eyes  shone  mistily,  just  for  a 
moment,  as  they  replaced  the  photograph  and  the  lit- 
tle book  in  the  box.  Again,  just  for  a  moment,  Jean 
hung  back  to  blow  a  kiss  back  toward  distant  Kings- 
ford,  when  Grey  gave  the  signal  for  the  road. 

For  a  couple  of  hours  they  marched  along  gaily 
enough.  Little  children  playing  by  the  roadside 
giggled  at  them ;  while  the  mothers,  summoned  to  the 
door,  smiled  tolerantly  at  the  last  queer  fashion  of 
spending  a  day  which  city  folks  had  taken  up  — 
tramping  like  gypsies  in  the  dust.  The  day  was 
bright,  and  livened  by  a  sea  breeze,  tumbling  clouds 
gave  pleasure;  occasional  elms  made  cool  shade  to 
rest  in ;  the  road  was  hard  and  dry ;  the  top  of  every 
hill  showed  in  the  distance  the  shine  of  the  blue  and 
silver  Sound. 

But  by  degrees  their  talk  dwindled.  Grey  began 
to  shift  the  mahogany  box  from  one  side  to  another; 
the  cord  cut  his  fingers  if  he  carried  it  so,  the  edges 
pressed  sharply  against  his  sides  if  he  tucked  the 
thing  under  his  arm.  Jean  was  powdered  with  dust, 
but  she  smiled  brightly  at  Grey's  anxious  query. 

"Tired?"  she  echoed.  "Not  a  bit.  And  we 
must  be  nearly  there." 

"  Brave    one !     And,"    he    added,    his    expression 


JOURNEY'S  END  297 

changing,  "  you  wish  it  might  always  be  like  this? 
Still?  No  fear,  Jean?" 

"You  ask!" 

"  Ah,  one  must  be  so  sure !  It's  for  a  whole  life- 
time, sweeting?" 

"  With  you  anywhere,"  Jean  whispered,  repeating 
her  creed.  "  To  the  world's  end." 

They  were  common  words,  the  phrase  was  one  the 
girl  might  have  learned  from  any  of  the  story-books, 
but  they  spelled  for  her  truth,  and  Grey  felt  the 
thrill  that  tells  the  lover  he  has  won  his  battle.  He 
had  feared  in  dark  minutes  that  Jean  had  followed 
him,  because  he  could  lead  the  way  for  her  into  a 
light  brighter  than  that  which  illumined  her  narrow 
home;  now  he  had  no  fear,  for  Jean  breathed  her 
soul  into  his  as  she  leaned  up  for  his  kiss. 

She  had  given  herself  to  him  in  her  deepest  prom- 
ise. The  falcon  had  come  to  earth.  If  at  first,  as 
Grey  had  guessed,  Jean  had  listened  to  his  tales  of 
over-sea  and  the  life  beyond  the  Ledges  as  to  a  spell, 
if  ever  she  had  looked  to  him  as  the  Knight  who  was 
to  wind  his  warhorn  in  challenge  to  the  Giants  who 
held  her  captive,  it  was  long  ago.  It  was  the  man 
himself  now,  so  simple,  so  roughly  gentle,  that  com- 
mended her,  into  whose  hands  she  surrendered  herself 
body  and  soul. 

"  And  it's  not  for  my  beauty  that  you  want  me  ?  " 
she  demanded  suddenly. 

"  That  was  at  first,"  he  replied.     "  Then  because 


298  THE  UPPER  HAND 

life  was  empty  and  barren.  There  was  nobody  to  ac- 
complish things  for." 

"  And  now  ?  "  she  insisted. 

"  Who  will  tell  what  love  is  ?  "  was  his  broken  an- 
swer. 

They  came  in  another  hour  to  a  white  painted, 
decent,  German  sort  of  place,  on  the  edge  of  the  lit- 
tle city,  deserted  of  custom  apparently  at  that  hour 
of  the  day,  and  boasting  in  the  part  of  the  house 
which  the  landlord  used  as  a  dwelling  a  couple  of 
upper  rooms  which,  after  some  misgiving,  Mr.  Hertz 
thought  they  could  have. 

The  queer  luncheon,  served  them  by  his  wife,  who 
was  voluble  in  praise  of  her  potato  salad,  was  mixed 
up  with  sending  for  a  cab,  in  which  Grey  was  to 
transport  the  mahogany  box  and  its  freight  of  money 
to  the  bank;  and  it  was  interrupted  finally  by  the 
landlord,  in  whose  mind  had  awakened  vague  ques- 
tionings as  to  the  identity  of  his  lodgers.  And  when 
Grey  at  last  returned  from  his  errand,  reporting  that 
he  had  not  encountered  a  soul  he  knew,  Jean  met  him 
with  some  news  that  troubled  and  a  plan  of  retreat 
which  set  the  crown  on  the  day's  happenings.  The 
troubled  look  was  in  her  eyes  again. 

"  This  man  knows  about  us,  I'm  sure,"  she  said 
breathlessly.  "  Lock  the  door,  Dana." 

"Knows—?" 

"  Guesses,  then,"  she  added  quickly.  "  His  wife 
brought  me  up  this  paper.  It's  marked.  See? 
And  she  grinned  so  horridly." 


JOURNEY'S  END  299 

She  waited  till  he  had  run  the  column  down.  It 
was  an  afternoon  edition,  and  contained  details  of 
the  Kingsford  scandal. 

"Isn't  it  dreadful?"  she  cried,  out  of  herself  for 
a  second ;  but  checked  her  passion  instantly.  "  How- 
ever," Jean  went  on,  "  there's  something  else  in  the 
paper  that's  more  pleasant.  On  the  third  page,  sir, 
is  an  item  concerning  the  good  ship  —  what's  the 
name?  —  Housatonic," 

"  Jean ! "  He  flung  down  the  paper  after  a 
glance  at  the  local  shipping  news. 

"  May  we?  " 

"Just  the  thing  for  us.  You're  willing?"  he 
asked,  in  a  sudden  anxiety.  "  She's  only  a 
freighter." 

"  Don't  you  see  ? "  came  the  answer.  "  There 
won't  be  any  other  passengers." 

"  Ho  for  a  wedding  then ! "  he  laughed,  but  his 
mirth  was  eloquent  with  a  sober  joy. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  Jean  replied,  radiant  too. 

Again  he  must  leave  her  for  an  hour,  for  there 
was  the  steamship  office  to  visit,  and  the  bank  again 
for  getting  the  letter  of  credit,  the  jeweler's  for  buy- 
ing his  present  and  the  little  hoop  of  gold,  the  town 
clerk  for  a  license,  the  priest's  for  an  appointment. 
And  then  he  came  back. 

"  Ready  ?  "  he  asked  her. 

She  stood  up  to  meet  him,  and  reached  out  her 
hands  to  be  led  away. 

The  big  church  was  empty  and  quiet,  save  for  the 


300  THE  UPPER  HAND 

grumbling  of  the  organ  under  the  gentle  touch  of  its 
master,  who  was  practising,  and  the  twitter  of  spar- 
rows under  the  eaves.  A  light,  all  pale  gold  and 
softened  reds,  flooded  the  pavement,  a  faint,  linger- 
ing aroma  of  incense  weighted  and  spiced  the  air. 
Their  heavy  shoes  clicked  sadly  as  they  made  their 
way  up  the  aisle;  unconsciously  Grey  dusted  his 
sleeve.  But  Jean  went  serene  and  clear-eyed,  though 
her  clothes  were  wrinkled,  and  her  blonde  hair  loos- 
ened. It  was  her  new  born  fancy  so  to  appear  at 
her  wedding.  Like  all  her  mates  she  had  planned  a 
score  of  times  the  details  of  it  —  the  delicate  flowers, 
the  dress  of  heavy  white,  the  bridesmaids,  the  jolly 
breakfast,  and  the  drive  away.  But  Grey  had  taken 
her  just  as  she  was;  he  had  —  again  the  dreaming! 
—  caught  her  up  to  his  saddle-bow ;  for  a  day  and 
a  night  they  had  been  companions  of  the  highway; 
of  their  brief  life  together  the  most  had  been  passed 
on  hilltop  or  in  forest.  Jean  rejoicing  in  all  this, 
could  not  be  false  to  herself.  It  was  part  of  her 
pleasure  now  to  come  to  her  wedding  in  the  garb  of 
the  outdoor  adventures  of  her  love's  life. 

The  oddly  sorted  make-up  of  the  couple  that  he 
found  waiting  when  he  emerged  from  the  sacristy  in 
his  vestments  puzzled  the  clergyman;  and  he  asked 
one  or  two  kind  but  searching  questions.  He  could 
not  quite  reconcile  Jean's  beauty  and  bearing,  or 
Grey's  clean-cut  figure  and  honest  eyes,  with  their 
rusty  clothes  and  air  of  furtive  haste. 

There's  no  reason,"  said  the  painter,  "why  we 


JOURNEY'S  END  301 

shouldn't  tell  you  our  names.  This,  sir,  is  Jean 
Wilder,  and  I  am  Dana  Grey.  We  ran  away  from 
Kingsford  yesterday,  and  came  'cross  country." 

"  Kingsford !  Then  you  are  the  ones  concerned 
in  that  sad  affair?  " 

"  And  you'll  help  us,"  asked  Jean  in  turn,  "  to  put 
all  the  sadness  away  forever?  " 

The  organist  smiled  to  himself  as  he  touched  the 
stops.  The  soft  half  melodies  he  had  been  impro- 
vising resolved  themselves  into  life,  and  as  the  priest's 
voice,  solemn  and  gentle,  commenced  the  service,  there 
was  poured  through  the  empty  church  the  very  spirit 
of  youth  and  young  hope,  as  the  great  Spring  Song 
rippled  upward. 


XXII 

ULYSSES 

£  L  ^^  HE  never  guessed  the  truth,  not  for  a  miw- 
ute,"  muttered  Captain  Bassett  through 
his  set  teeth,  as  he  made  his  way 
through  the  woods  back  to  Kingsford.  "  I  kissed 
her,  and  she  never  knowed  the  difference.  I  have 
fought  the  fight,  I  have  kept  the  faith,"  the  old  man 
quoted,  looking  back  on  his  trail  through  the  hem- 
ming, silent  forest;  and  he  added,  with  a  laugh  half 
bitter :  "  I,  that  am  chief  of  sinners.  Amen.  It 
turned  out  all  right.  She  never  guessed  who  'twas 
that  helped  her." 

And  then  came  sorrow  in  the  midst  of  his  exulta- 
tion. He  had  pronounced  his  own  sentence;  he  was 
all  alone.  The  light  had  gone  out  of  his  life.  He 
had  sent  happiness  away,  had  given  it  to  another 
man.  Should  he  go  back  and  claim  her? 

For  a  moment  he  stopped,  breathing  hard,  turned, 
stepped  forward  along  the  path  he  had  followed, 
turned  again. 

As  he  passed  the  post-office,  Colonel  Gregory  hailed 
him. 

"  Have  you  seen  Jean  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  the  Captain. 


ULYSSES  303 

"  Any  idea  where  she  is?  " 

"  Not  a  bit.     Why?     Hasn't  she  come  back  yet?  " 

"  Not  yet.  And  it  was  right  after  this  —  this 
dreadful  affair  that  she  slipped  away." 

"  Slipped  ain't  the  word,  Colonel.  I  made  her  go. 
She  was  all  broke  up." 

"  That  was  quite  right,  sir.  But  she  should  be 
here  now.  They  need  her,  you  see.  This  is  a  shock- 
ing matter,  Captain  Bassett."  The  old  soldier 
seemed  eager  for  such  details  as  an  eye-witness  could 
furnish.  "  Is  it  true  that  — ?  " 

"  Haven't  got  a  minute,"  declared  the  Captain, 
"  I'm  due  back  at  the  house.  I  kinder  feel's  though 
I  belonged  there,  bein*  mixed  up  in  the  business.  See 
you  later." 

"  Poor  Warden ! " 

"  That's  right.  I  guess  we'd  'a'  done  the  same, 
though.  Good  day."  And  he  hurried  on.  "  A 
good  end ! "  he  murmured  blithely.  "  A  good  end 
of  the  whole  business !  " 

His  task  was  finished.  He  must  get  away,  far 
from  this  village  where  he  had  suffered,  and  made 
another  suffer,  far  from  the  scenes  of  a  dreary  sum- 
mer. The  world  stretched  before  him ;  he  was  strong 
and  sound;  he  had  money  in  his  pocket  and  a  clear 
head  on  his  broad  shoulders.  Yonder  smiled  the  sea. 

"  Groin'  west?  "  asked  the  ticket  agent,  as  the  Cap- 
tain laid  a  five  dollar  bill  on  the  little  counter  before 
the  window.  "  I  see  you  lookin'  at  that  Union  Pa- 
cific adv'tisement.  Say,  them  prairies — " 


304  THE  UPPER  HAND 

"  That's  a  part  way  to  Alaska,"  the  old  man  replied 
musingly.  "Ever  do  any  minin',  Joe?" 

"Me?     Naw!" 

"  That's  so.  You  ain't  that  kind  exactly,"  said 
the  Captain,  regarding  the  young  man  who  was 
curled  and  oiled,  buc  pimply. 

There  came  a  vision,  slowly  unfolding,  of  rough 
icy  trails,  revolvers  drawn,  long  hard  days  on  the 
claim;  of  nights  in  the  steaming  dance  halls;  of  sud- 
den wealth,  and  the  treacherous  luck  at  the  green 
tables.  A  man  might  do  well  there.  It  was  a  place 
in  which  to  forget  one  life  and  start  another. 

"  Where  d'ye  wanter  go? "  snapped  the  agent. 
"  Guess  you're  kinder  woozy-headed  after  seein*  the 
shootin'-bee.  Where  to,  old  sport?  " 

"  I  don't  just  figure  it  out,"  the  Captain  replied. 

He  left  the  money  where  it  lay  and  walked  to  the 
door.  The  breeze  swept  in  cool  and  fresh  from  the 
salt  water,  and  the  old  man  drank  deep  of  it.  The 
station  platform  changed  in  his  fancy  to  a  narrow 
bridge;  he  was  peering  over  a  canvas  screen;  the 
green  marshes  melted  into  shoal  water;  a  couple  of 
fence  posts  yonder  became  the  channel  buoys,  further 
still  was  the  open.  The  tow-boat  whistled  good-bye 
as  she  sheered  off  astern. 

"  Train's  comin',"  said  Joe.  "  On  time  today. 
Hear  her  tootin'  for  the  river  ?  " 

"  East,"  the  Captain  replied,  answering  an  earlier 
question.  "  The  sea's  a-callin'  me,  Joe." 


ULYSSES  305 

"  Go  on ! "  this  with  fine  derision,  for  Joe  was  a 
literal  person,  "Boston?" 

"  New  Liverpool,"  said  the  Captain  craftily. 
"  I've  got  to  do  a  couple  o'  errands." 

"  Comin'  back  tonight,  I  s'pose.  Don't  see  how 
you  can  leave  just  now  anyway.  Why  — " 

The  train  thundered  in,  and  stopped  with  a  sigh. 

"  Good-bye,  Joe.     The  sea's  in  my  blood,  I  guess." 

"  Blood's  mostly  rum,  his  is,"  was  Joe's  comment, 
as  the  old  man  boarded  the  train.  "  I  guess  he  won't 
be  heard  of,  not  for  a  week.  Acted  kinder  sprung 
already." 

East  or  west,  little  did  the  old  man  care,  so  long 
as  he  was  foot-loose  once  more.  The  world  over  he 
was  bound,  he  told  himself.  East  or  west.  But 
the  song  of  the  sea  witched  him  first.  Perhaps  he 
would  be  happiest  there ;  surely  he  would  be  freest. 

"  New  Liverpool ! "  the  brakeman  yelled. 

"  I  guess,"  said  Captain  Bassett,  "  as  how  I'll  go 
a  little  further." 

It  was  the  comfortable  seat  and  his  card  game  with 
the  men  he  met  in  the  smoking  car  that  tempted  him 
this  time.  The  sea  was  always  there,  always  ready. 
Now,  after  the  tense  weeks  it  was  pleasant  to  talk 
big  against  the  yarns  of  other  men,  to  feel  one  of  a 
light-hearted,  easy-living  crowd. 

"  I'm  just  ridin'  for  fun,"  he  laughed.  "  I  ain't 
really  stretched  my  legs  since  spring." 

"Have  a  drink,  Cap.?"     One  of  the  strangers 


THE  UPPER  HAND 

unscrewed  his  flask.  The  smell  of  the  whiskey 
weighed  the  smoky  air  still  more. 

"  I  guess  you'll  have  t'  excuse  me." 

Not  on  this  day,  as  he  said  fiercely  to  himself. 
Not  on  this  day  which  was  dedicated  to  Jean.  He 
had  kissed  her  not  an  hour  before. 

The  train  carried  him  on  mile  after  mile,  through 
rock-strewn  pastures,  scant  gardens,  smoky,  dirty 
towns.  It  was  extraordinarily  pleasant;  he  made  the 
regular  roar  of  the  wheels  fit  into  an  old  song;  he 
won  three  dollars  at  euchre  with  delight,  and  bought 
with  it  cigars  and  bananas  from  the  train  boy  with 
equal  pleasure.  To  travel  far,  to  have  around  one 
noise  and  dirt  and  humankind,  instead  of  the  still- 
ness of  the  Kingsford  woods,  were  joys  beyond  ex- 
pression. 

Then  came  Boston,  and  loneliness  after  the  rough 
companionship  of  the  train.  The  old  man  found 
that  he  was  tired  and  hot.  From  a  saloon  came  a 
cool  air  and  an  aroma  of  mint  mixed  with  the  scent 
of  liquor.  Some  music-machine  was  playing. 

"  No ! "  he  cried  again.  "  Not  the  land  for  me. 
I'd  go  to  pieces  on  the  land.  And  you  mustn't  do 
that,  Cap.  You  mustn't  begin  today.  Sea's  safest, 
I  guess,  if  she  wants  me  again." 

He  looked  up  and  saw  the  white  clouds  tumbling 
before  the  twelve  knot  breeze  high  above  the  land's 
grime. 

"  Sea's  best,"  he  repeated.  "  It's  free  out  there. 
Also  cleaner." 


ULYSSES  307 

And,  turning  on  his  heel,  the  old  man  regained  the 
station  and  the  train  which  would  carry  him  back  to 
where  the  ships  lived.  He  might  have  found  them 
where  he  was,  but  feared  the  streets  between  him  and 
the  water. 

"  Straight  livin'  while  I  can,"  he  muttered. 
"  That's  what  she'd  like  me  to  do." 

He  had  no  definite  plan,  for  his  heart  and  brain 
were  tired.  Only  to  be  among  the  seafarers  again, 
to  hear  the  rattling  donkey-engines  hoisting  in  cargo, 
to  watch  some  schooner  towing  down  the  harbor,  to 
hear  the  tale  of  this  smashed  rail  and  splintered  bow- 
sprit, or  the  remarks  of  a  mate  concerning  fogs, 
crowded  channels,  and  stove  bowplates  —  this  sufficed 
for  now,  this  would  help  to  quiet  a  man's  heart-ache. 

Toward  dusk,  but  not  till  then,  however,  did  the 
Captain  make  his  way  to  the  water  side.  One  would 
have  expected  him,  when  once  the  ships  and  the 
wharves  were  at  his  elbow,  so  to  speak,  to  go  at 
once  into  their  company.  But  the  old  man  knew 
better  than  that.  It  was  more  fun  to  linger  over  his 
greasy  supper  at  the  long  counter  in  the  railroad 
dining-room,  from  where  one  caught  glimpses  of  the 
harbor  through  the  rows  of  waiting  cars,  or  now 
and  then  a  sight  of  the  whole  panorama  of  water  and 
shipping,  when  the  switching  engines  would  shift  the 
trains  away  for  a  minute  or  two.  In  the  station  also 
there  would  pass,  now  a  couple  of  sailors  from  a  rac- 
ing yacht,  or  a  smart  young  Jackie  rolling  back  to 
fcb?  warship  from  shore  leave,  or  a  chevroned  marine, 


308  THE  UPPER  HAND 

quiet  and  dapper,  or  one  of  those  deep  sea  nonde- 
scripts, brown,  hairy,  clumsy,  too  heavily  dressed  for 
September  ashore  —  a  dozen  of  the  sea  folk,  his 
brothers.  Up  in  the  town  the  old  man  purchased  a 
yachtsman's  cap,  with  its  gilt  device  of  a  foul- 
anchor,  and  jammed  it  on  hard,  tossing  his  stiff  derby 
into  the  first  ash  barrel  he  met.  He  bought  a  news- 
paper, and,  sitting  on  a  bench  in  a  little  park,  read 
the  shipping  news, —  what  was  cabled  from  Antwerp 
or  London  Docks,  or  Rio;  what  reports  the  home- 
coming captains  brought  concerning  derelicts  dodged, 
or  disabled  steamers  sighted.  So  the  afternoon 
passed  in  a  careful  savoring  of  the  pleasure  later  to 
be  tossed  off  in  a  draught. 

Only  at  sunset  did  Captain  Bassett  trudge  down 
to  the  water's  edge,  just  when  the  cannon  from  the 
fort  and  the  yacht-station  announce  the  day's  end, 
and  the  riding  lights  flashed  out  from  a  score  of  ves- 
sels anchored  up  and  down  the  lovely  harbor.  The 
better  to  enjoy  it  all,  the  old  man  picked  his  way 
out  to  the  end  of  a  long  dock,  from  where,  as  he 
guessed,  he  might  see  up  and  down  from  the  draw- 
bridge to  the  lighthouse,  but  which  proved  in  the 
event  the  theatre  of  a  scene  very  different  from  that 
which  he  had  come  to  view. 

He  was  recalled  to  something  practical  by  the  con- 
versations of  two  men  just  around  the  corner  of  the 
pile  of  packing-cases  against  which  he  was  leaning. 

"  Why  Bradley  sent  this  stuff  here  beats  me.     He, 


ULYSSES  309 

ought  to  know  the  right  dock.  How'm  I  to  git  it 
all  over  there  tonight?  " 

"  I'll  send  down  some  teams.  It's  got  to  go 
aboard,  that's  all." 

The  two  drew  nearer  the  edge  of  the  wharf  as 
though  to  look  across  to  the  next.  The  buccaneer, 
from  his  place  peered  out  also;  and  covetousness 
sprang  full-grown  in  his  heart. 

Yonder  lay  a  little  steamer,  say  a  thousand  ton, 
brand  new,  he  would  swear,  from  keelson  to  truck, 
fresh  and  clean,  free  from  dent  or  rust  even  at  the 
hawse-holes.  Painted  black  she  was,  with  olive  green 
deck-houses  and  yellow  funnel,  just  like  a  French 
war-ship,  and  the  low  light  made  brilliant  the  lavish 
brass  on  her  bridge.  She  was  trim  as  any  liner. 
You  would  take  her,  with  the  low  free-board  and 
raking  masts,  the  Captain  swore  in  his  heat,  for  a 
yacht,  if  you  did  not  see  the  crane  and  the  engine 
working  away  forward,  or  the  dingy  line  of  figures 
aft  who  were  trundling  hand  trucks  up  and  down 
narrow  gang  planks.  There  was  comfort,  however, 
even  here.  The  Housatonic  (for  that  was  the  little 
steamer's  name)  was  no  collier.  The  cargo  was  in 
cases  and  crates,  neat  as  pins  and  as  easy  to  stow. 

"  You'll  have  good  nice  quarters  aboard  her,9*  re- 
marked the  man  who  had  spoken  first.  He  was  about 
four-and-twenty,  too  carefully  dressed  for  dingy 
docks,  and  might  from  his  face  be  either  clever  or 
easily  deceived,  so  featureless  was  it  and  the  blue 


310  THE  UPPER  HAND 

eyes  so  mildly  inexpressive.  "  Better'n  on  the  old 
Tunxis,  I  guess." 

"  Tunxis!  "  exclaimed  Captain  Bassett  under  his 
breath.  "  Then  this  one's  old  Garraway's  new  boat, 
prob'ly.  Dee !  " 

The  mate's  very  next  words  made  him  listen  still 
more  carefully.  "  A  feller  can't  tell  nothin'  'bout 
a  trip,  'less  he  knows  his  cap'n,  Mr.  Garraway. 
Queer  the  new  one  ain't  come,  ain't  it  ?  " 

The  young  man  was  very  young  indeed.  Instead 
of  checking  Mr.  Safford's  curiosity,  he  swore  aloud. 

"  Wish  I  knew  where  he  was.  Father's  nearly 
wild.  Sick  in  bed  and  can't  stir  a  foot.  We've  wired 
and  wired  but  can't  get  any  answer  since  yesterday. 
Then  Starbuck  said  he'd  send  him  right  along." 

"What's  he  like?" 

"  Comes  well  recommended.  He  ran  the  Persian, 
Coronet  Line,  for  six  years.  Been  all  over,  they  say, 
and  always  did  first-rate.  Bull's  his  name.  Silas 
Bull.  Yankee  as  you  want.  And  get  this  stuff  over 
right  away,  Mr.  SafFord." 

Captain  Bassett  thought  at  desperate  speed.  The 
old  man  was  out  of  the  way,  there  would  probably  be 
only  this  cockerel  to  deal  with,  and  about  him  the 
last  ten  minutes  had  made  all  clear.  Yonder  lay 
ready  and  waiting  the  new  Clyde-built  steamer,  the 
pride  of  the  old  freighter's  heart ;  his  newest  specula- 
tion, off  to  the  world's  end  the  moment  a  master  took 
the  bridge. 

"  Sewing  machines,"  young  Garraway  was  saying. 


ULYSSES  311 

"  Also  a  lot  of  saucepans  and  —  and,  I  guess  these 
must  be  axes  from  the  Allis  Company.  Yes,  that's 
right.  She'll  bring  back  olive  oil  and  wine." 

"  Genoa ! "  whispered  Captain  Bassett.  "  Or 
Marseilles  perhaps.  Suits  me,  all  right." 

His  face  expressed  a  very  lively  degree  of  satisfac- 
tion as  he  walked  back  along  the  wharf.  Here  was 
an  adventure  ready  made ;  and  his  mind  was  made  up 
instantly.  Suppose  he  should  fail!  Well,  no  great 
harm  would  come  of  it,  as  he  reckoned ;  whereas,  if  he 
succeeded  in  his  splendid  scheme  of  capturing  the 
Housatonic  there  would  be  subject  for  a  year's  talk 
with  much  laughter  along  the  water  fronts  of  every 
harbor.  And  if  he  carried  the  ship  through  success- 
fully, it  might  mean  the  life  of  the  sea  made  his  for- 
ever. 

But  there  were  difficulties  in  his  path.  Bull  must 
be  found  and  kept  below  hatches  somewhere,  should 
he  arrive;  there  were  the  long  interview  to  be  had 
with  the  owners,  the  securing  of  his  papers,  money- 
chests,  manifests  and  books,  the  risk, —  this  the  worst 
bother  —  that  somebody  in  the  office  might  know  him 
or  ask  questions  concerning  Captain  Bull's  connec- 
tions here  and  there.  If  he  tripped  once,  the  whole 
fabric  of  his  piratical  plans  would  crumble  and  fall 
around  him.  There  was  even,  perhaps,  danger  of 
arrest. 

The  Captain  halted  under  a  street  light  to  review 
the  situation.  But  a  look  and  a  listen  back  drove 
from  him  any  momentary  hesitation.  He  heard  the 


312  THE  UPPER  HAND 

clanking  start-and-stop  of  the  cargo  engine,  the 
shrill  whistle-signals  of  the  second  mate.  The  masts 
showed  black  against  the  dark  sky ;  and  from  the  es- 
cape pipe  there  twisted  up  a  little  curl  of  steam,  white 
and  delicate.  A  dull  glow  marked  the  open  hatches. 
The  whole  was  full  of  suggestion.  It  means  readi- 
ness for  the  blue  water.  The  great  holds  were  nearly 
full;  steam  was  making;  the  house-flag  blew  out 
straight  from  the  main  truck. 

"  You're  mine,  old  lady,"  muttered  the  Captain. 
What  was  the  risk  of  an  hour  when  a  sea-bride  like 
this  trim  Housatonlc  was  to  be  won  by  it  ?  And  with 
eyes  fixed  on  his  prize-to-be,  inspired  and  strength- 
ened every  moment  by  the  look  of  the  craft,  the  old 
pirate  stood  still  until  his  plan  of  campaign  was  com- 
pletely marked  out. 


XXIII 

OUTWARD  BOUND 

AT  that  hour  the  office  of  Garraway  and 
Company  was  tenanted  only  by  the  junior 
partner.  The  street  had  left  off  work  some- 
time since;  in  the  neighboring  shops  and  office  build- 
ings the  lights  were  out,  except  those  in  front  of  the 
safes.  But  young  Mr.  Garraway  held  the  fort, 
yawning  nervously  over  an  evening  paper  when  he 
was  not  staring  into  the  street.  He  had  to  await 
the  expected  captain.  To  him  entered  so  quietly 
that  he  did  not  hear  the  door  click,  a  short,  broad  old 
fellow,  who  wore  a  yachtsman's  cap  and  carried  a  new 
traveling  bag.  Mr.  Garraway  brought  his  feet 
down  from  the  desk  with  a  crash. 

"Don't  tell  me  you're  Captain  Bull!"  he  ex- 
claimed, with  well  assumed  anger.  "  If  you  existed, 
you'd  have  been  here  long  ago." 

"  I  see,"  said  the  stranger  slowly.  "  Suppose, 
though,  I  sh'd  tell  you  that  I  was  Captain  Bull. 
.What  then?" 

"  I  should  answer  that  Fm  glad  to  see  you  —  at 
last.  Couldn't  get  here  earlier?  " 

"  Missed  my  train.  But,"  the  old  fellow  added, 
"  there's  no  reason  why  you  need  to  take  me  for  any 

313 


314  THE  UPPER  HAND 

Captain  Bull,  for  I  lost  my  grip  and  all  the  letters 
of  introduction.  I  ain't  got  a  thing  to  prove  that  I 
ain't  lyin'  to  you."  He  studied  the  young  man's  face 
anxiously.  "  I  guess  Starbuck  wrote  ye  I  was  comin'. 
Didn't  he?" 

"  Yes,  yes."  The  junior  partner  was  a  bit  flus- 
tered at  this  introduction.  "  What  line  have  you 
been  with,  Captain  ?  " 

"  Six  years  master  of  the  Persian.  Coronet  Line, 
sir.  'Twas  her  that  I  took  through  the  —  that  storm 
down  off  the  Banks,  year  before  last.  I  wish,"  the 
stranger  sighed,  "  I  had  my  owner's  letters  by  me." 

"  I  guess  you  don't  need  'em,"  replied  Mr.  Gar- 
raway.  "  You  sound  like  our  man  all  right." 

"  Sound  travels  far  at  sea,"  the  other  laughed ;  and 
mopped  his  brow.  "  When  can  I  see  the  craft  I'm 
booked  for?  I  wonder  now,  if  she's  the  Housa- 
tonic?  " 

"  That's  the  one." 

"  I'm  mighty  glad  o*  that.  One  of  your  other 
cap'ns  told  as  she  was  'bout  ready.  Remember 
Cap'n  Roper?  " 

There  was  some  more  talk  behind  the  big  desk, 
from  various  compartments  of  which  Mr.  Garraway 
pulled  the  ship's  papers.  The  customhouse,  in  re- 
sponse to  a  frantic  appeal  by  telephone  kept  open 
long  enough  for  them  to  rush  thither  and  get  the 
ship  and  cargo  cleared. 

"  It's  a  queer  way  to  take  a  ship  —  on  faith,"  pro- 
tested the  new  master ;  "  but  if  you're  satisfied,  I  am. 


OUTWARD  BOUND  315 

I  ain't  seen  my  ship,  'n'  the  ship  ain't  seen  her  skip- 
per, so  I  guess  we're  square  enough.  I'll  be  'round 
bright  'n'  early." 

"  Good.  I'm  sorry  my  father  couldn't  see  you 
sail." 

"  I  heard  he  was  laid  up.     Give  him  my  regards." 

And  with  that  he  parted  from  Mr.  Garraway  at  the 
corner  of  the  street  which  led  to  the  station.  He 
wanted  to  be  sure,  quoth  the  captain,  that  a  friend  of 
his  did  not  miss  him  who  might  come  in  on  either  of 
the  two  evening  trains. 

He  ran  his  quarry  to  earth  with  less  pains  than  he 
fancied ;  the  dispatching  of  him  was  a  pleasure.  To 
the  real  Captain  Bull,  as  he  descended  from  the  smok- 
ing-car, mariner  unmistakably  from  head  to  foot,  ap- 
peared an  old  chap  who  called  himself  Bassett,  and 
announced  that  he  was  deputed  by  the  Garraways  to 
see  that  Captain  Bull  was  made  comfortable  and  snug 
for  a  couple  of  hours,  and  that  the  head  of  the  firm, 
ill  in  Boston,  required  his  new  skipper's  attendance  be- 
fore the  Housatoriic's  sailing. 

"  You're  to  take  the  train  at  eleven,"  Bassett  re- 
ported, "  and  find  the  old  feller  at  this  address  in  Bos- 
ton tomorrow  morning." 

"Hunh!"  grunted  Captain  Bull.  "Queer  he 
ain't  here  in  N'Liverpool."  And  he  expressed  a  de- 
sire for  food  and  drink. 

"  The  very  thing,"  said  Bassett,  with  a  grin. 

Captain  Bull  had  a  grievance  to  tell  about;  his 
companion  had  seen  all  the  world  and  could  talk  of 


316  THE  UPPER  HAND 

it;  they  differed  in  politics.  Captain  Bull  also  for 
once  broke  through  his  rules  of  temperance,  first  with 
decent  apology,  later  with  enthusiasm.  And  when, 
after  two  hours,  his  new  friend  bundled  him  into  the 
Boston  express,  Captain  Bull  was  convulsed  with 
laughter  at  the  idea  of  going  to  find  a  ship  by  rail, 
yet  grim  in  anger  at  the  owner  who  kept  his  skip- 
pers out  of  bed  to  pay  him  calls. 

"  I'll  talk  to  him!  "  he  promised,  leaning  from  the 
car  window. 

"  There'll  be  a  whole  lot  o'  talk  tomorrow  first  'n' 
last,"  replied  Bassett;  and  he  fingered  lovingly  the 
indorsements  from  the  Coronet  Line's  directors  and 
president  which  Captain  Bull,  pressing  them  on  him 
to  read,  had  forgotten  in  his  vinous  enthusiasm  to  de- 
mand back  again. 

New  Liverpool  harbor  is  always  full  of  life.  Prom 
colors  to  sunset,  or,  if  tides  or  winds  serve,  the  whole 
way  round  the  clock,  there  is  a  steady  come-and-go  of 
steam  and  sailing  craft.  Splashing  side-wheelers  with 
decks  black  with  excursionists,  dingy  coal  schooners, 
yachte  of  all  sizes,  an  occasional  warship,  are  forever 
coming  to  or  breaking  out  their  anchors.  So  the 
sailing  of  the  Housatonic  called  forth  no  particular 
attention.  A  couple  of  tugs  helped  her  from  her 
berth  and  turned  her  nose  down  the  harbor;  there 
was  a  rough  salute  from  the  wharf  laborers,  and  the 
wave  of  a  handkerchief  from  young  Mr.  Garraway. 
For  a  moment  she  ran  with  the  tide. 

The  new  Captain  glanced  at  the  impassive  pilot, 


OUTWARD  BOUND  317 

and  at  his  nod  set  the  engine  room  telegraph  to  "  half 
speed  ahead."     The  screw  lashed  the  water  into  foam. 

"  Take  her  yourself,  please,"  he  said,  and  waved 
from  the  wheel  the  sailor  who  had  held  it. 

"  Glad  to  be  afloat  again?  "  asked  the  pilot. 

"  Glad !  "  The  Captain's  eyes  shone  with  happi- 
ness. "  I'd  go  to  sea  in  that  mud-scow." 

The  pilot  laughed.     "  Got  any  passengers  ?  " 

"  I  was  goin'  to  have  a  couple.  But  they  didn't 
show  up." 

The  man  was  in  no  mood  for  talk.  He  wanted  to 
be  alone  with  his  happiness.  He  wanted  to  plan  the 
brave  days  to  come, —  all  the  routine  he  would  es- 
tablish, as  rigorous  as  on  any  liner,  his  boat  and  col- 
lision drills,  his  meeting  with  the  other  officers  —  two 
on  deck  and  two  in  the  engine  room.  He  walked 
from  one  end  of  the  bridge  to  the  other,  noting  the 
brass  which  needed  a  bit  of  polish,  looking  forward 
where  the  watch  was  busy  clearing,  under  Mr.  Saf- 
ford's  eye  and  lashing  tongue,  the  disorder  around 
the  donkey-engine  and  the  still  open  cargo-hatch; 
then  aft,  past  the  rows  of  boats  to  where  the  snowy 
awning  was  stretched  tautly  over  the  quarter-deck. 
He  had  won  her!  She  was  all  his,  this  trim,  well- 
found  little  craft.  There  were  three  weeks  of  sum- 
mer weather  before  him,  and  the  open  water. 

Down  the  harbor  step  by  step.  The  city  had  be- 
come a  blur  of  purple,  lighted  here  and  there  by  a 
new  tin  roof  or  a  bit  of  glass  which  caught  the  sun. 


318  THE  UPPER  HAND 

The  pilot  held  the  steamer  for  the  last  of  the  channel 
buoys. 

Suddenly  from  the  tugboat,  which  accompanied 
them  to  take  the  pilot  back,  came  a  hail. 

"  Ahoy !  "  roared  the  Captain. 

"  Look  astern !  " 

It  was  a  second  tugboat,  heading  down  the  harbor 
with  a  bone  in  her  teeth  straight  on  the  Housatorwc's 
trail.  She  was  painted  in  government  colors,  white 
with  yellow  upper  works  and  funnel. 

The  Captain  bit  his  lip.  "  Revenue  ?  "  he  asked 
the  pilot,  trying  to  force  unconcern  into  his  voice. 

"  What'd  a  revenue  boat  want  with  you  ?  " 

The  Captain  looked  away.  "  We're  all  right,  I 
guess.  But  —  she  wants  us,  I  sh'd  say.  And  there 
go  the  flags." 

Sure  enough,  from  the  stumpy  mast  which  the  tug 
carried  fluttered  out  a  string  of  signals. 

"  That's  queer.     What  does  it  say?  " 

"  Read  'em,"  replied  the  skipper.  "  Glass  is  in 
that  box."  He  took  the  wheel  and  held  his  eyes  on 
the  distant  buoy.  His  heart's  beating  pained  him. 
"  Make  'em  out?  "  he  inquired  feebly. 

With  surprising  ease  the  little  pieces  of  bright 
bunting  were  spelt  out  and  interpreted.  The  pilot 
shut  up  the  glass  and  reported. 

"  They  want  you  to  stop." 

"  Stop,  hey  ?  "  He  leaned  forward,  and  caught 
the  handle  of  the  indicator.  The  tug  was  only  over- 
hauling them  very  slowly.  One  notch  more  speed, 


OUTWARD  BOUND  319 

and  it  would  be  left  behind  for  good.  "  Old  Uncle 
Sam  wants  me  to  stop,  does  he ! " 

The  pilot  lowered  the  glass.  "  It  ain't  the  reve- 
nue tug,"  he  said.  "  It's  only  the  Amy  G.,  Blake's 
boat.  I  guess  it's  from  your  owners !  " 

"What's  the  odds?"  cried  the  pirate  bitterly. 
"  Owners  or  revenue,  it's  all  the  same." 

The  tug  was  whistling  furiously  now,  and  the  sig- 
nal flags  showed  quite  plainly.  The  pilot  stared  at 
his  companion. 

"  What's  wrong?  "  he  growled.  "  Why  don't  you 
slow  down?  Ain't  crazy,  be  ye?  " 

Still  the  captain  kept  his  eyes  seaward.  He  fon- 
dled the  spokes  of  the  brass  wheel,  as  though  he  could 
take  from  them  some  of  the  life  the  ship  had  to  give 
him.  They  made  the  buoy. 

"  What's  the  course  from  here?  "  he  asked  thickly. 

"  The  course?  " 

"  Just  supposin'  the  Housatonic  was  goin'  to  sea.'* 

"  I'll  show  ye.  Say,"  the  pilot  continued,  anx- 
iously and  politely  both,  "  of  course  you're  the  boss ; 
but  it  ain't  usual  even  for  deep  sea  freight  cap'ns 
to  disobey  orders.  I'd  hate  to  risk  things  like  you 
do." 

"  Risk !  Well,  may  be  you'll  understand  some 
day." 

He  saw  in  fancy  the  eager  pursuers  —  Garraway 
of  course,  the  real  Captain  Bull,  the  harbor  police- 
men with  their  handcuffs  and  locust  clubs  ready  for 
him  if  he  should  struggle.  Less  clearly  he  could 


320  THE  UPPER  HAND 

picture  the  trial  —  could  they  try  him  ?  —  the  mock- 
ery of  the  sea-folk.  And  this  chattering  pilot  spoke 
of  the  risk  of  a  run  for  the  blue  water!  Then  an- 
other thought  flashed  to  him;  and,  for  no  reason  at 
all,  since  Jean  could  have  felt  shame  for  him  a  hun- 
dred times  before,  the  fear  lest  he  might  not  meet 
his  defeat  like  a  man,  and  so  prove  unworthy  of  her, 
bore  the  balance  down.  Without  a  word,  he  stepped 
to  the  telegraph  and  set  the  pointer  to  "  slow,"  and 
then  to  "  stop."  He  blew  two  quick  blasts  on  his 
whistle. 

"  Cap'n's  compliments  to  Mr.  Safford,"  he  said  to 
the  man  who  came  to  get  his  order,  "  and  he  will  lower 
the  stabbord  gangway.  Owner's  comin'  aboard." 

He  would  do  the  thing  handsomely  at  least.  He 
would  receive  Garraway  on  the  bridge,  his  throne 
while  his  reign  endured. 

The  tug  ranged  alongside;  its  heated  skipper 
leaned  from  his  wheelhouse  ready  to  express  an  opin- 
ion of  the  steamer's  master.  But  Captain  Bassett 
gave  no  heed.  Rather  did  he  walk  to  the  other  end 
of  the  bridge,  and,  leaning  on  the  rail,  kept  his  eyes 
on  the  sparkling  sea  in  the  distance,  without  a  look 
at  what  was  going  on  aft  at  the  gangway. 

He  heard  not  one  of  the  questions  and  comments 
of  the  pilot;  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  look 
around.  His  whole  strength  went  out  in  an  effort 
to  mask  the  bitter  disappointment  that  gnawed  at 
his  heart;  his  last  moment  on  board  must  be  a  con- 
tinuation of  the  dreamed  life  out  yonder  on  the  sea. 


OUTWARD  BOUND  321 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  said  a  new  voice  at  his  elbow. 

The  end  had  come.  The  Captain  turned  about 
deliberately,  and  gravely  acknowledged  the  sailor's 
clumsy  salute. 

"  Mr.  Safford's  compliments,  and  the  gangway's 
s'cured,  sir." 

"  Anything  else  to  report?  " 

"  Passengers  come  aboard,  sir.  Gen'leman  'n' 
lady,  sir." 

"  No  one  else  ?  "     He  hardly  knew  his  own  voice. 

"  Nossir.  They  was  late  to  the  dock,  sir,  'n'  took 
the  tug." 

"That'll  do." 

He  waited  a  moment  longer  before  he  addressed 
the  pilot,  whose  honest,  keen  face  was  eloquent  of 
conflicting  thoughts  within. 

"  Take  the  wheel,  sir,"  said  Captain  Bassett,  and 
with  steady,  caressing  hand  he  once  more  set  the  sig- 
nal for  his  engineer.  This  time  it  was  "  full  speed 
ahead." 

"  Now !  "  he  exclaimed.     "  Now  we'll  see !  " 

All  day  he  kept  his  watch  on  the  bridge.  At  first 
he  was  content  to  let  the  pilot  steer,  for  his  happy 
dreams  sufficed  him.  It  was  sufficient  to  hear  the 
water  hiss  along  the  sides,  to  feel  reawaken  the  ap- 
preciation of  each  tiny  point  of  meaning  in  this 
schooner's  damaged  gear  or  that  steam  yacht's  swift 
progress.  It  was  joy  to  watch  from  his  place,  with 
a  sense  of  intelligent  criticism,  the  way  the  men  were 
going  at  their  work  about  the  decks;  a  pleasure  to 


322  THE  UPPER  HAND 

find  he  remembered  every  trick  of  the  Sound's  tide, 
so  that  the  course  he  laid  in  his  mind  for  the  Housa- 
tonic  coincided  with  the  pilot's.  But  the  keenest  de- 
light came  later. 

They  had  passed  through  the  last  of  the  narrow 
openings  from  the  Sound  to  the  sea.  The  low  in- 
lands were  behind  them. 

"  I  guess  I'm  through,"  said  the  pilot.  "  Nothin* 
left  now  but  reg'lar  navigation,  Cap'n." 

Once  more  a  brief  slow-down,  the  coming  up  of 
the  pilot's  tug,  a  quick  hand-clasp  and  a  farewell. 

"  Any  word  to  the  owners  ?  " 

"  Tell  'em  that  I'm  enjoyin'  myself  first-rate," 
laughed  the  Captain.  "  Good-bye." 

Evening  began  to  come  down,  but  still  he  kept  his 
watch.  Every  few  minutes  his  silver  whistle  would 
bring  a  sailor,  who  was  dispatched  with  a  command 
or  ordered  to  bring  a  report.  In  the  morning  he 
would  make  his  inspection,  and  settle  the  routine  of 
the  daily  life  aboard.  There  was  time  enough.  He 
would  not  leave  his  bridge  —  his !  —  even  at  dinner- 
time, but  had  a  cup  of  coffee  and  some  bread  brought 
up.  He  must  drain  to  the  last  drop  this  joy  of  his 
sea  life's  first  day,  the  sheer  pleasure  in  the  salt 
smack  of  the  air  and  the  lift  of  the  boat  under  his 
feet,  as  he  laid  her  into  the  beginning  of  the  long 
ocean  swell.  He  laughed  aloud  as  some  spray  doused 
him,  flying  back  from  the  bow. 

Footsteps  lighter  than  any  sailor's  on  the  deck  be- 
low the  bridge,  and  the  sudden  peal  of  a  girl's  mellow 


OUTWARD  BOUND  323 

laughter,  startled  the  old  pirate  from  his  thoughts. 

"  We  can  go  forward  all  right,"  cried  some  man. 
"  Come  ahead." 

"  No,"  whispered  the  pirate  hoarsely.  "  Not  her! 
Spare  me  that  temptation,  Lord !  " 

"  Jean !  "  her  companion  exclaimed.     "  Coming  ?  " 

And  suddenly  she  appeared,  with  another  laugh 
and  a  catch  at  her  hat  as  a  little  gust  tilted  it.  The 
wind  moulded  her  clothes  about  every  line  of  her.  It 
was  the  same  Jean,  and  Grey  with  her  to  lend  a  hand 
till  they  came  to  a  perch  on  the  great  riding  bitts  on 
the  forecastle  deck.  Here  they  sat,  and  for  long 
minutes  the  old  man  on  the  bridge  watched  them,  with 
his  heart  on  fire. 

The  Nantucket  lightship  showed,  a  dim  blot  on 
the  horizon. 

"  She  must  be  free,  free,  free,"  the  pirate  kept 
repeating.  "  She  must  be  free.  But,  God,"  he  ex- 
claimed, straining  his  whole  body  up  toward  the 
evening  sky,  "  'twasn't  playin'  fair  to  let  'em  choose 
this  boat.  It  wasn't  quite  the  square  thing,  good 
Lord." 

The  couple  in  the  bow  were  very  close  together 
now.  The  man  slipped  his  arm  about  Jean's  supple 
waist,  and  with  his  free  hand  pointed  eastward.  The 
lightship  showed  its  warning  flashes.  The  darkness 
was  coming  down  fast. 

"  How  close  he's  heading  her,"  Grey  remarked. 
"  He  wants  to  show  the  crew  his  new  steamer,  I  guess. 


THE  UPPER  HAND 

Cabin  boy  said  he  was  so  proud  of  her,  he  hasn't 
left  the  bridge  for  a  second  all  day  long." 

"  That's  how  a  captain  should  be,"  murmured 
Jean,  lazily  happy.  "  Oh  Dana,  dear,  you'll  never 
leave  me?  Just  like  that  old  captain  and  his  ship?  " 

"  Shall  I  promise  again? "  he  asked  in  return. 
"  Mine,  sweetheart,  all  mine  always." 

Steady  and  true  the  steamer  held  her  course.  She 
would  pass  the  lightship  not  a  hundred  yards  away. 
The  old  man  on  the  bridge  raised  his  eyes,  stooped 
and  lashed  the  wheel.  He  rose,  stooped  again  and 
kissed  it  like  the  lips  of  some  woman  who  owned  his 
soul.  A  moment  later  he  ran  aft  along  the  empty 
deck,  and  as  the  little  freighter  ploughed  past  the 
lightship,  Captain  Bassett  dove  from  the  rail. 

The  lightship  crew,  who  had  suspended  their  list- 
less work  to  stare  at  the  Housatonic  passing  them  so 
near,  found  a  real  excitement  in  pulling  on  board 
the  old  fellow  whose  shout  for  help  came  out  the 
steamer's  boiling  wake. 

"  Tumbled  overboard?  "  inquired  the  light  keeper 
coolly. 

"Would  I  jump,  think  likely?" 

"  Not  'thout  ye  had  some  reason." 

"  Well,"  replied  the  pirate,  looking  after  the 
steamer  steadily  making  for  sea,  "  I  was  always 
kinder  foolish  in  some  ways."  His  voice  lowered 
sombrely.  "  But  I  done  what  was  right,  I  guess.  I 
done  the  right  thing." 

Out  into  the  darkness  went  the  Housatonic.    There 


OUTWARD  BOUND  325 

was  a  flurry  when  the  Captain's  absence  was  discov- 
ered,—  men  shouting  orders,  a  boat  cleared,  dis- 
patched, recalled.  Then  the  first  mate  took  the 
bridge,  the  engines  resumed  the  steady  song;  and  the 
lovers,  sobered  and  thrilled  into  a  deeper  sense  of 
life's  sweetness  by  what  they  thought  was  death's 
nearness,  watched  over  the  bow  the  glories  of  the 
starry  night. 

"What's  your  name?"  asked  the  lightship's  mas- 
ter. 

"  The  feller  that  went  overboard  off  the  steamer 
was  James  Wilder,"  replied  the  rescued  one.  "  And 
his  daughter's  name  is  Jean." 

"  Have  some  more  coffee,"  said  the  other.  "  I 
guess  you  must  be  kinder  cold." 

"  I  am  cold,"  answered  the  old  man  sombrely. 


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